


I Will Share Your Road

by PitViperOfDoom



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Critical Role Setting, Found Family, Multi, No Critical Role knowledge required, Past Character Death, Polyamory, Slow Burn, playing fast and loose with D&D rules
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 81,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26801785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitViperOfDoom/pseuds/PitViperOfDoom
Summary: Tim and Sasha take the job because it's a simple one: escort shy, nervous, wide-eyed newbie cleric Martin Blackwood to the holiest city in the world. They also take it because the chance to skip town and dodge the trouble they've gotten into is too good to pass up.But there's more to a journey across continents than just keeping watch for bandits, especially after they pick up a cagey warlock tied to an all-seeing fear god. Mysterious encounters pile up. Danger mounts.Sometimes, in spite of your best efforts, trouble finds you.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Oliver Banks/Tim Stoker, Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 316
Kudos: 522





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a project I've been hammering out for quite a while now. As the tags suggest, it's D&D inspired and set in Critical Role's Exandria/Tal'Dorei setting. Knowing about either of them might make this story more fun, but you don't have to. I'm mostly just using the setting.
> 
> Tags and chapter count may change in the future.
> 
> Hope you like it!

The public forum was crowded that morning, which was nothing new. That was sort of what public forums were for, after all. On this particular morning it was proving a problem, because people were rubbernecking around the job boards. Tim was decently tall, but seeing over the tops of people’s heads didn’t do much when there were this many people between him and the notices pinned to it.

"What if I sat on your shoulders?" Sasha asked, and he could tell from her tone that she was only joking if he wanted her to be.

"Someone might throw something at you," he pointed out. "Isn't that your favorite shirt?"

"Ah, good point. Guess there's only one thing for it." With that, Sasha stuck out her elbows and waded in. A few people protested against the pushing, but never quickly enough to catch her before she moved into another split-second gap between bodies. Anyone too slow to move out of her way risked an elbow to the ribs or a horn to the face.

After a few minutes, she returned—empty-handed and frowning slightly. She was clutching the end of her tail, with the familiar disgruntled look that told him someone had stepped on it by accident.

"Anything?" Tim asked.

"Besides the usual posters inviting people to join the Shields?" Sasha let go of her bruised tail and ran her hand through her corkscrew curls instead. "There _was_ one calling for a bounty on an adult manticore, but it sounded like a job for a party bigger than just two."

"Damn."

They stood together for a moment, weighing their options. There weren't a lot to go through.

“The Sunkissed always has tables in need of bussing,” said Tim.

“That’s not enough.”

“It’d keep us fed.” When Sasha scowled, Tim put a comforting hand to her shoulder. "It’s an option. The money we’ve got won't last forever, and if we’re going to be picky about who we ask for work—”

He felt Sasha tense under his hand. “We’re _not_ going to the Clasp.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Tim said, bridling. “You _know_ that.”

“Right.” She ran her hand through her hair again, agitated. “I know. I know that. I’m sorry, Tim.”

“It’s fine.” He paused. “And we’ve still got money from, ah. Your last… job.” Sasha pulled a wry face. “Look, how long will it last us? At least a week, right?”

“I'd give us another week, maybe two, before we have to start tightening our belts."

“That’s not nothing,” he reminded her. "Something's bound to come up." From the look on her face, the encouragement didn’t seem to stick. “…Sasha, what’s this about? It’s not like we’ve never resorted to wiping tables for coin before.”

"It’s just…” Finally she left her hair alone, and the curls sprang back into shape when she released them. “Look, it'd make me feel better if we could leave Westruun behind completely." She sighed. "I'm getting tired of this place, I’m tired of getting the side-eye from guardsmen, and…"

"And?" Tim prompted.

"I was… look, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to worry you," Sasha said, worrying him instantly. "Remember Rentoul?"

Tim opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and stepped back to guide Sasha away from the worst of the crowds. It wasn't until they reached a more secluded bench that he spoke again. "Just to be clear, this is Lee Rentoul from the Clasp?”

“Yep.”

“The same Lee Rentoul who threatened to snap your neck if he saw you again?”

“That’s the one.”

“After you stole from him.”

“He stole it first! I was _retrieving_ it for the rightful owner!”

Tim sighed deeply. It couldn’t be helped—the finder’s fee for that crystal was still paying for their room and board. “What about him?"

"Well…" Sasha crossed her arms over her chest. "Apparently he’s changed his stance on neck-snapping. And he wants to hire us. Me."

“What.”

“I mean, I did sort of demonstrate my skills to him—pretty directly.”

Tim swore under his breath. "Did you turn him down?" Sasha pulled a face. “You told him _yes?_ ”

“I told him I’d think about it!”

“ _Why are you thinking about it, Sasha._ ”

“I’m not!” she whispered furiously. “Look, Rentoul may not be the spireling in Westruun, but he’s chummy with the man who is. So if he whines enough, Noriega will come after me just to shut him up, and then I won’t have a choice. I could have a whole Clasp chapter after me!" Sasha's tail flicked again. "So I told him I'd think about it. I give us maybe a week before he gets tired of waiting."

"Bastard," Tim muttered. "We could take off now, you and me. We have enough money to get us to Kymal for sure, maybe Emon if we really stretch it."

"If we take off now, he’ll come after us,” Sasha said flatly. “Rentoul’s like a dog—if you run from him, he’ll chase.”

“What did dogs ever do to you to deserve that?” Tim sighed.

“I’m serious, Tim.”

“I know you are,” Tim said grudgingly. “But Rentoul’s not stupid. Whether we leave town with or without a job, he’s bound to know we’re avoiding him. What’s to stop him from following us anyway, if you think he’s that determined?”

“The Clasp itself, hopefully,” said Sasha. “They’ve got a code of their own, and they’re pretty good at keeping their own in line. If it’s less obvious that we’re running from him, the Clasp might not support him.”

That was a good point. As amoral and ruthless as the thieves guild could be, they still operated on a strict code. They had to; shunning the law was one thing, but going back on your word was bad for business. Still… “I dunno, Sash. He’s still in good with the spireling…”

“We’ll just have to act fast, then. Get to another city, maybe.” Sasha looked thoughtful. “Somewhere with a different spireling who won’t take Rentoul’s shit, and can slap down Noriega if he tries to help his friend.”

It was a better plan than none. Tim squared his shoulders. “Right. How long d’you think we have?”

“Like I said, maybe a week.” Sasha pulled a face. “I guess, failing everything else, Salesa’s people are always hiring.”

“Salesa’s business gives me the creeps.”

“Like I said. Failing _everything else._ ” Sasha looked toward the job board one last time. “Unless we want to try throwing ourselves at a manticore.”

“Not quite that desperate yet,” Tim said, and reached up to give one of her curved, backswept horns a light flick. “Come on. Let’s try the Sunkissed Tavern, see if there’s any news there—”

Behind them, a throat cleared politely. “Um. E-excuse me?”

They turned around together, Tim shifting so that the short sword on his belt was within easy reach, Sasha crossing her arms in such a way that her right hand ended up over the hilt of one of her hidden knives. With minimal movement, they were both poised for a fight.

It proved unnecessary. The speaker stood at a respectful distance, fiddling with the straps of his bag, and he couldn’t have looked less like a Clasp member if he tried. He was tall—a hair taller than Tim, much to Tim’s chagrin—but everything about him was soft lines and round edges, from his build to his mess of dark hair to the green scarf knotted around his neck. When he saw that he had their attention, he tried a smile. It was a stiff, nervous thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Sorry,” the stranger said. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you both talking about the job board…?”

Tim exchanged a quick glance with Sasha. “Yes? What of it?”

“Are you… sorry, maybe I’m completely misinterpreting this,” the man went on, soldiering through a nervous stutter. “But you two look, uh, like you’ve been in fights before, and from the sound of it you’re looking for work?”

“Are you offering?” Sasha asked, keeping her voice neutral.

“Yes,” the man replied, toying with the end of his scarf. “And, I also couldn’t help but hear something about leaving Westruun—sorry, I know eavesdropping is just, _really_ rude, but I’ve never really done this sort of thing before and I was just trying to get a feel for the crowd—Anyway, that’s what I’m trying to do, myself. Leave Westruun, I mean. Only I’ve got a long way to go, and the roads can be dangerous if you’re traveling alone, and I’m not looking to get robbed by anyone, so, if you were looking for something on the job board…” His voice trailed off, and he gave them a look that was half hopeful and half pleading.

Already, Tim could feel his spirits lifting. At last, an _option_. “Well—you know what, why don’t we talk about this somewhere else?”

“Somewhere less open?” Sasha suggested. “There’s an inn on the edge of the Residential Ward, not too far from here. We go there all the time. Good place to talk business.”

The man nodded vigorously, relief so powerful that Tim could feel it wafting off of him. “Lead the way.”

True to Sasha’s word, the walk from the forum to the inn was not a long one. Bit by bit, their new acquaintance relaxed. He wasn’t exactly chatty, but he had the nervous, energetic air of someone who might be, given the chance. By the time they arrived, he seemed to have settled himself, and as Sasha led the way to their usual table—positioned just right to avoid eavesdroppers and watch their surroundings—his nervousness had turned to calm determination.

“Right,” Sasha said decisively. “Tim, grab drinks. It’s time to talk shop.”

“What’s your poison?” Tim asked, turning to their prospective employer.

“Tea, if you don’t mind.” The man looked sheepish. “Alcohol gives me a headache.”

“Poor man,” said Sasha. “Chop chop, Tim.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

Once they were gathered again, drinks in hand, Tim turned to their new friend and rested his chin on one hand. “So. What do we call you?”

The man took a careful sip from his tea. “Martin,” he replied. “Martin Blackwood.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Blackwood,” Sasha said with a pleasant smile. “I’m Sasha James. This is my associate, Tim Stoker.” She sat forward, and her smile barely changed except to show a few more teeth. “So. What’s the job, and what are you offering?”  
Blackwood leaned forward, folding his hands around his cup. “Well, as I said, I’m about to do a bit of traveling,” he began. “It’s a long journey, and I hear the roads can be treacherous. Highwaymen, thieves, that sort of thing. It’s better not to travel alone, so I thought I’d hire some, er, protection?” Blackwood paused, looking at them carefully. “Is that something you two can do?”

Bandits and robbers—infinitely more manageable than manticores. “If it’s a matter of keeping robbers off your back on the road, then yes,” Tim said readily. “We both know our way around a fight. Sasha here is a master of avoiding detection.”

“Have you taken the Silvercut Roadway before?” Blackwood asked.

“We have,” said Sasha. “We traveled here together from Stilben, years ago.”

“And I’ve been as far as Kymal in the other direction,” Tim added. “A merchant caravan needed guards, so I joined up. Got into a few tangles along the way—nothing too bad.”

“Sounds like it’s my lucky day, then,” said Blackwood. “I’m going farther than Kymal, though. At least as far as Emon, though if you can take me farther than that, it’d be great.”

“What sort of payment are we looking at?” Sasha asked.

“Expenses paid, plus two hundred fifty when we part ways.” Blackwood pursed his lips. “If you’re leaving town, I think that’d be enough to get you started?

“Hmmm…” Tim exchanged another look with Sasha. “That depends—”

“It’s all I’ve got,” Blackwood blurted out, his face darkening with embarrassment. “I… can’t really offer any more than that, sorry.”

“Right,” Sasha murmured, half to herself. “Well. Hm. Where did you say you were headed?”

“I didn’t, but my end goal is Vasselheim,” Blackwood replied, and leaned forward again. “Which, from what I heard earlier… er, it might match up with your goals?”

Sasha whistled softly. “Vasselheim? That’s on a whole other continent.”

“Our current goal is just to leave Westruun, not Tal’dorei itself,” Tim added.

Blackwood took a moment to check their surroundings again before answering, “The Clasp doesn’t have a presence in Vasselheim.”

And then they were _really_ paying attention.

“How does the Clasp not have a presence _anywhere_?” Sasha demanded, her voice forcibly muffled.

“Well, Vasselheim’s the oldest city in the world,” Blackwood said with a shrug. “It’s survived every calamity the world has ever seen, and that’s a point of pride for them. If they can bar the door against dark gods, then a thieves guild with a couple centuries under its belt isn’t going to have much luck.”

Tim looked at Sasha again, and could already see her coming to the same decision.

They weren’t going to get a better chance than this.

“Well then, Mr. Blackwood,” said Sasha. “If you’ll have us, then you’ve got yourself a deal.”

The corners of their new employer’s mouth turned upward in a cautious smile. “Call me Martin,” he said. “Can you be ready to leave tomorrow?”

* * *

Sasha woke Tim the next morning, wide-awake and disgustingly cheerful. “Time to go, Tim,” she whispered. “You’re packed.”

She said it like a statement, not a question. Tim squinted at her, struggling to remember whether or not he really had finished packing the previous evening.

“I mean it,” Sasha told him. “You’re packed. I finished it for you. We need to _go_.”

Right. They had a paying job—escort one Martin Blackwood safely to Vasselheim, all the way over in Issylra. Simple enough, provided they made it to the next major city before Lee Rentoul found out they were skipping town.

Tim was up and out of bed, already mostly dressed for the day. “Right. Let’s go. Where are we meeting Martin again?”

“Sunkissed Inn.” Sasha thrust his pack into his hands before shouldering her own. “He’s got a room there, apparently.”

“Oh.” Tim blinked, surprised. “Sunkissed’s usually for travelers passing through, isn’t it? I thought he was a local.”

“Apparently not,” Sasha said with a shrug. “Not that it really matters. The important thing is where we’re headed.”

“Vasselheim.” Tim made a low whistle. “Pretty far. You ever been?”

“Nope. I’ve never even left Tal’Dorei.” They left their lodgings side by side, leaving behind an empty room stripped of personal effects. Whether or not they would be back was unclear; best not to leave anything behind. “Do you know anything about it?”

Tim shrugged. “It’s like Martin said. Oldest city in all of Exandria, withstood every calamity the world ever saw. Cradle of human civilization, blah blah blah.” He paused, thinking harder. “It’s sort of the spiritual center of the world, too. Got temples to every major god in its walls, and it’s run by religious leaders. It’s the kind of place people make pilgrimages to—maybe that’s why Blackwood’s headed there?”

“He didn’t seem like the religious type,” Sasha remarked.

“Who knows,” Tim said airily. “Anyway, it’s a harsh place to live. Built around a mountain called the Heaven’s Stair, surrounded by wilderness crawling with monsters. Of course, I know my way around mountains, so we should be fine.” He paused, thinking hard, but if he had ever known more about the ancient city, his memory would not produce it. “That’s all I can think of.”

“Well, we can pick Martin’s brain about it when we meet up with him,” Sasha told him. “He’s sure to know more about it, if he’s the one who wants to go there so badly. Speaking of—” She paused, brow furrowing in thought. “What do you think of him?”

“Martin?” Tim shrugged. “Seems nice enough. Not the most confident, though.”

She chuckled. “You picked up on that too?”

Tim slung an arm over her shoulder, narrowly missing her horns. “Not everyone can be a deadly hunter of beasts and a world-class trickster.”

Sasha grinned, knocking her head against his shoulder. “No. But at least he’s wise enough to hire them.”

The Sunkissed Tavern and Inn was quiet at this time of day. It only got really boisterous in the evening, when farmers and laborers came in to relax after a hard day’s work. This early in the morning, the only bustle came from travelers looking to make an early start. Today, at least, Tim and Sasha were among their number.

Martin was waiting for them at a corner table, with a modest breakfast board already laid out. Sasha descended on it eagerly, grabbing two boiled eggs and a roll before anyone had even managed a ‘good morning’. Tim, who had not been raised in a barn thank you very much, spared a winning smile for their new employer before sitting down to eat.

“Morning, Mr. Blackwood, hope you slept well,” he said. “So what’s on the docket before we leave the city?”

“I told you, Martin’s fine,” Martin replied. “And there are a few things I need to buy before we leave. Do you two have any last-minute errands to run?”

“I could do with a shopping trip,” said Tim. “I haven’t made a trip this long in a while. Sasha?”

“We’ll need equipment and rations for the road,” Sasha replied, without looking up from the egg she was shelling. “And some healing potions, because you can never have too many of those. How will we be making this journey?”

“Oh, I’ve already arranged to rent horses,” Martin replied. “We can take them as far as Emon. Then from Emon it’s across the sea to Issylra, and straight to the Heaven’s Stair—that’s the mountain Vasselheim is built around. Emon’s got sky ships, but regular boats are cheaper, and we’ve got to make the last leg of the journey on land anyway.”

“Pilgrimage thing?” Tim guessed.

Martin shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s also just how Vasselheim is. It’s more defensible—the path up the mountain’s rough, and they only allow sky ships in for emergencies.”

“So, we’ve got a trek through monster-infested wilderness to look forward to.” Sasha slapped Tim on the shoulder. “Pace yourself, Tim, because you’ll be pulling your weight by the end.”

“I _always_ pull my weight,” Tim said petulantly. He turned to Martin as if appealing to him. “I do. I promise you’ll get your money’s worth.”

“As long as we get there in one piece, I’ll be satisfied.”

“Better get started as soon as possible, then,” said Sasha. “Remember we’re trying to avoid notice.” She shot Martin a cautious look. “We don’t have anything on, beyond buying things for the road, but what about you?”

“What about…? Oh!” Martin shook his head. “No. I’m ready to leave. I’ve, uh, said my goodbyes already.”

Tim paused over the roll he was buttering. “Oh? Leaving anyone behind?”

“Not really, just… Westruun itself, I guess.” Martin fidgeted with his hands. “I, uh, don’t have much to keep me here, anymore.”

“Oh, are you not coming back?” Sasha asked.

Martin shrugged. “Maybe. Dunno how long it’ll be, if I do. You won’t have to worry about that, though—once we get to Vasselheim, our business is done.”

“Unless we wind up unlikely friends along the way,” Tim mused. “Long way to Vasselheim, after all. Plenty of time to bond.”

That brought a small grin to Martin’s face. “Maybe. You two aren’t really the serious-faced bodyguards I imagined, but I think I’m fine with that.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make the trip fun,” Sasha assured him. “Is this your first time leaving home?”

“Depends how you define home.” Martin heaved a sigh. “Honestly? I feel guilty, but part of me can’t wait to see the back of this place.”

Tim barked out a humorless laugh. “I’ll drink to that. Or I would, if I had a—” He glanced at the mug that Martin had pressed into his hand at some point. “Well. Tea’s fine. You get the idea.”

After that, talk was light and pleasant as they worked their way through breakfast. Eventually Martin left to pay his tab, and Sasha leaned back and made a show of stretching.

“Guess that explains the room here,” she murmured.

“Hm?”

“He’s leaving town, same as us,” she explained. “Starting a new life somewhere, I’ll bet. Probably stayed here so he could get all his affairs sorted before he left.”

“In that case Vasselheim’s a weird choice, if you ask me.”

“True, but I don’t know his life,” Sasha said with a shrug. “Maybe he’s got prospects. Not like it’s our business, of course—we just have to get him there.”

“Oh yeah, not our business, like that’s stopped _you_ from being nosy before.”

“Ha! Good point.” Sasha grinned, showing the tips of her canines. “Never hurts to know what you’re getting yourself into. Especially for a job like this.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Bodyguarding?”

“I was going to say babysitting, but—”

“ _Sasha_.”

Martin returned presently, and the three of them took their leave. Not far from the Sunkissed Tavern, a stable advertised horse rentals on its recently repainted sign. It was here that Martin, after a quick exchange with one of the grooms, secured them each a mount. Within the hour they had saddled up and were headed for Westruun’s main marketplace. Like them, Martin seemed to have packed light, with only a single saddlebag and a pouch hanging from a shoulder strap. Both were packed full, but for a single man’s worldly possessions, it wasn’t a lot.

Tim recalled the man’s earlier embarrassment over money, and the comments about leaving nothing behind, and realized with a pang that their new employer might very well have sold all his things to afford this trip.

“So. Martin.” Tim nudged his horse alongside their employer’s, while Sasha dropped behind them to adjust her loose saddlebags and keep an eye on the rear. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Er… what exactly do you want to know?” Martin asked, looking a little wide-eyed.

“Well it’s not every day a man decides to uproot himself and wander off to another continent.” Tim toyed absently with his reins “What’s the occasion? I hear people make pilgrimages to Vasselheim, but to my knowledge, pilgrimages aren’t meant to be one-way.”

“I guess they aren’t,” Martin agreed. “Don’t know if I’d call this a pilgrimage, really. I’m just visiting friends who live there.”

“Ah. They the religious type?”

“Yeah, one of them. Follows Bahamut.”

“Ooh, very nice,” Sasha piped up from the rear. “What about you, Martin?”

“Oh, well, I…” Martin averted his eyes in an almost demure expression. “My mum’s from Whitestone, so growing up I was sort of—we followed Pelor, you know? But, I-I’ve always interested in history and legends and—and lore, and stuff like that. So I spent a lot of time in libraries and temples to Ioun, and… and I sort of felt more of a connection there. I’m a cleric now,” he added. “Sorry, I don’t think I mentioned that before.”

“Well what do you know, Sash,” Tim called over his shoulder. “We’re doing good work for the Knowing Mistress herself.”

“Oh, I’ve never felt more holy,” Sasha said, dryly teasing.

“Come on, don’t be a spoilsport.”

Sasha pulled a face at him as she adjusted a clasp on her bag. “Tim, you’re only happy about this because traveling with a cleric means begging healing spells off someone instead of dipping into the potion stash.”

“Potions cost money, Sasha! Spells don’t cost anything but a nap!” To Martin he added, “Don’t worry, I’m very good at not getting injured.”

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.”

“So, it boils down to a social call, then?” Sasha asked, sensibly steering them back to the topic at hand.

“A one-way social call?” Tim added, ignoring Sasha’s warning jab.

“Something like that,” Martin replied. “Like I said, I’m new to being a cleric, and to be honest, I’m not really sure where to begin. But I’ve got friends in Vasselheim, so I’m hoping to sort of… I don’t know. Form connections? Holiest city in the world, there’s bound to be someone who can help me figure out what to do next.”

“Sounds like a great plan,” Tim remarked. Martin looked uncertain, which wasn’t fair, because Tim had gone and rolled out his sincere voice for that. “No really, I mean it. Things happen, sometimes you just have to uproot and try again somewhere else.”

“We’ve been trying to do that for months,” Sasha added, with a small smile. “And now, thanks to you, we can. So. Win-win.”

Hesitantly, Martin smiled back. “Happy to help.”

* * *

They finished their shopping excursion before noon. Sasha was good about traveling light, and Tim was even better, so between the three of them they could manage without an extra pack horse, or gods forbid a wagon. And that was good; Tim had enough experience guarding caravans to know that wagons were a real bitch to defend. The roads were usually decent during the day, but the thought of having to stand guard at night over a clunky wagon, or having to flee from trouble dragging an extra horse, made him want to groan out loud.

If there was one thing he and Sasha appreciated, it was mobility. Sometimes the best defense was getting the hell out.

But those were thoughts for the future. They were technically still in Westruun, and the road beyond should be safe, at least for the first leg. They wouldn’t really have to worry until it got dark, especially given how open the Dividing Plain was between here and Emon. It was a fairly straight shot from one city to the other, with not a lot of cover in between.

With a little luck and some effort, they could make it a fair way by nightfall.

Tim’s thoughts were interrupted when Martin's voice reached his ear, as clear as if his new employer were whispering right into it. “Don’t want to alarm you, but we’re being followed,” he said. Tim shot a glance at him, startled. Martin was at least a horse-length away and wasn’t even facing him, though one hand was surreptitiously positioned to point at him. “Short, skinny guy, dark hair, sort of rough looking, could swear I saw a couple of daggers on him. Anyone you know?”

Tim shot a cautious glance over his shoulder, spotted the man, and suppressed a groan. Moments later, Sasha’s voice rang in his other ear, also far too clearly to be natural. “Tim, McMullen’s tailing us.”

He nodded, grinding his teeth all the while. How in the Nine Hells did Rentoul find out?

Carefully, Tim turned his head again, just enough that he could see McMullen out of the corner of his eye. With a whisper that barely moved his lips, he placed a Hunter’s Mark on him. The spell slipped into place, and when Tim faced front again, McMullen’s presence remained in his awareness, like an internal compass needle pointing the way.

In less than a minute McMullen fell behind, and then vanished into the crowd. Tim nudged his horse alongside Martin’s, with Sasha coming up on his other side.

“So, not to alarm you, but we’ve got a bit of a problem,” Sasha said almost nonchalantly.

“You’re right about him being Clasp,” Tim added. “That’s McMullen—he’s just a toady, but he’ll be back with his boss.” He shot a glance around, noting the amount of people. “If there’s a decent crowd heading out of town, we might be able to lose them in it.”

“We’ll still be on the road, though,” Sasha pointed out. “We can’t properly lose them if they know the exact path to take.”

“But we have to take the road eventually or we’ll be fighting off wild animals and bandits every step of the way!”

“At least wild animals don’t want to _press_ me into _organized crime_ , Tim—”

“Um,” Martin spoke up. “I might… I mean, I know another way. That we could take. It’s sort of a shortcut, but we’d get back on the road eventually, and there’s also a stop we could make, along the way. If we need to.”

He glanced in either direction at them, saw that he had their attention, and seemed to rally himself. Picking up speed, he pulled ahead and veered off into a side street, away from the city gates. Tim exchanged a glance with Sasha, and they followed.

“The Silvercut Roadway leads southeast,” Martin explained, carefully dodging pedestrians. “It curves around the edge of the Bramblewood. If we go straight south, we can cut through the Bramblewood and rejoin the roadway on the other side.”

Tim sat up straighter in the saddle. “This could work,” he said. “Rentoul’s a city boy through and through, he won’t be able to track as well through the forest.”

“Especially not a forest like the Bramblewood,” Sasha agreed. “How long should it take us to get through to the roadway?”

“Er… at least a day, I think,” Martin replied. “We might have to stop and make camp somewhere in the woods, sorry.”

“Hey, no complaints here,” Tim assured him. “I’ve camped before. So, why are we going this way? Far as I know, the main gate’s the only way out, unless you get creative. And it’s a little hard to get creative with three fully-loaded horses.”

“Oh! Uh.” Martin looked sheepish for a moment. “I just thought we’d take the long way to the gate? When that—McMullen, right?—when he brings back his boss, if it takes them a while to find us again, I figured it could buy us some time to get out of Westruun, then detour around the city walls to head straight into the Bramblewood.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “Not a bad idea, as long as we’re quick,” he said. “And once we’re in the Bramblewood, the trees should be thick enough to hide us.”

“Think you can cover our tracks?” Sasha asked.

“Can I cover our tracks? Sasha, Sasha, what do you take me for?”

There was a pause.

Martin shot him a hesitant look. “So… is that a yes, or…?”

“ _Obviously_ I can cover our tracks.”

All told, it probably took them an extra ten minutes to leave the city. With McMullen carrying around a Hunter’s Mark like a beacon, Tim could safely say that he never caught up with them again.

Just outside the gates of Westruun, the three of them veered off the road and followed the city wall toward the west, before splitting off from it entirely and riding into thick treeline of the Bramblewood. Only when the shadows of the woods were upon them did Sasha look back, eyes glowing faintly in the gloom.

“Tim?” she asked.

“Marked him before he disappeared in the crowd,” Tim assured her. “He was nowhere near us when we left the city, and he’s nowhere near us now.”

The tight line of her shoulders relaxed, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. “First hurdle, done.”

Further ahead, Martin turned back to them with a worried frown. “Do you think they’ll keep trying?” he asked. He must have seen the uncomfortable look that passed between them, because he added, “It’s alright, if they will. We’re out here already, it’s not like I’m going to dismiss you now.”

“Thank you,” Sasha said quietly.

“Can I ask…” Martin hesitated. “Why exactly are you running from them?”

Sasha sighed. “Guess you might as well? The man who’s after me is a member of the Clasp, Lee Rentoul. I’m just—I’m good at finding out things I shouldn’t, and getting into places where I don’t belong, and… that led me to, sort of, steal something from him.”

Martin’s eyes widened. “You stole from the Clasp?”

“He’s not even a high-ranking member! And he’d stolen it first, I was just getting it back for the rightful owner! And—I did the legwork ahead of time, I made sure Rentoul’s theft wasn’t a Clasp-official job, just his own sticky fingers. I got it back but I didn’t get out as clean as I hoped, and he swore he’d kill me if he got the chance. But now he’s changing his tune, trying to recruit me instead. Technically, by Clasp rules, he can’t force me to officially join, but…”

“But Rentoul’s never cared much for rules.” Tim’s lip curled in contempt. “And there are plenty of Clasp higher-ups willing to go along if it means profit. So, if Vasselheim doesn’t have a Clasp presence, it sounds like a pretty good place for us.” Sasha looked pained at him, Martin curious, but Tim didn’t elaborate. “So. Anyway. You know the way from here, Martin?”

“Oh! Right.” Martin seemed to remember what they were there for. “Yes. Straight south through the forest, and we can get back on the road once we’re, ah, out of the woods.”

“Have you been this way before?” Sasha asked.

“S-sort of? I’ve been in the Bramblewood before, I grew up here, but… I-I mean, it’s just straight south, isn’t it?” Martin shrugged. “So if you see me veering off in the wrong direction, don’t hesitate to shout.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Tim. “Lead on, boss.”

Martin spluttered in embarrassment, then kicked his horse into a light trot. It wasn’t a pace they could keep up forever, with the forest growing thicker as they moved further in, but it gave Sasha a small window in which Martin drifted out of earshot.

“Us?” she asked, a little too casually.

“Yeah, us,” Tim retorted. “What about it?”

Sasha’s face did a complicated, almost twisty little maneuver on its way from surprise to curiosity to guilt and discomfort. “It’s just… I’m the one who _needs_ the safety of Vasselheim.”

“What?” Tim snorted. “You think if you went off on your own, Rentoul wouldn’t want to get his hands on me, make me tell him where you went?” Sasha cringed. “Wait, Sasha—that’s not what I—”

“I’m just sorry,” Sasha said, looking miserable. “If I’d just stayed away from him from the beginning, then you wouldn’t have to…”

“What, uproot my life?” Tim asked sardonically. “I haven’t had one to uproot since before we met, and you know that.”

“Tim…”

“It was always going to be ‘us’,” Tim said simply. “Not just you. You’ve been with me through thick and thin. If you go, I’m following. And right now, we’re going to Vasselheim.”

Sasha stared at him for a moment more.

“Well, go on,” Tim urged her. “I’ve got to bring up the rear. Covering tracks, remember?”

Her tail, previously draped neatly over her horse’s back, swept between them and flicked him affectionately. Without a word, she trotted ahead to catch up to Martin.

Behind them, the thickening trees slowly closed around their last view of Westruun.

* * *

“It’s getting dark,” said Sasha. “Dark for real, I mean. We should probably stop soon.”

Night fell early in the depths of the Bramblewood, it seemed. The trees were high with thick foliage, shrouding the forest floor in darkness long before the sun completely set. It made for decent cover and forbidding surroundings; if, say, Rentoul happened to catch up to them, there was enough room to manage a decent gallop, and plenty of opportunities to lose a tail.

But they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Rentoul or his usual crowd since leaving Westruun. The effects of Tim’s Hunter’s Mark had faded after the first hour, but that didn’t stop them from being vigilant. As far as Sasha could tell, they had not been followed.

Now it was dark, and in a forest like this, that meant an entirely different brand of danger.

“Martin?” Sasha repeated. Their employer had yet to answer, or give any indication that he had heard her. His horse’s pace had slowed, and his head was turning this way and that, scanning the trees.

“Martin,” Tim echoed her, his voice slightly sharper. This time Martin jumped.

“What? Oh.” He looked back at them, blinking. “Right. Sorry, it’s just…” His voice trailed off.

“Is everything alright?” Sasha asked.

“I think so,” he answered. “I was hoping we’d get farther than this, but…” He shook himself. “Doesn’t matter. You’re right—we should stop and make camp.”

“Tim? That’s your specialty.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Tim nudged his way to the front, then turned them slightly westward. “C’mon, we’d better head this way.”

“I thought we were going to stop?” Martin said as he followed.

“Can’t just make camp anywhere,” said Tim. “Look around at the ground—it slopes down here from all sides. It’s still winter and liable to rain, so we need proper cover and elevation. Also—hear that?” He stopped talking, and the distant burble of a stream rushed to fill the silence. “We’re too close to a water source. If it floods—not saying it will, but _if_ —I’d rather not be sleeping at the bottom of a bowl.”

“Oh,” Martin said quietly. “That—that makes sense.”

“Course it does,” Tim said cheerily. “Don’t worry, Martin, we’ll make a proper woodsman out of you yet.”

There were no more objections as Tim led the way up a small rise in the earth. The trees grew more tangled the higher they went, roots crisscrossing over and under each other. Sasha’s horse stumbled once, but they pressed on.

Finally, at the top of the low hill, Tim slowed his pace and turned, clearly searching for a decent spot. Sasha squinted into the woods, her vision carrying just a bit further than his—

“Hey!” Sasha sat up straight in her saddle. “Look—over there. That looks promising, doesn’t it?”

She had almost missed it, half-hidden as it was in darkness, tucked between the close-knit trees. But there was no mistaking the even, man-made shape of a cottage amid the tangle of the natural woods.

It took a moment for Tim to catch sight of it. “Well, that makes it easier, doesn’t it,” he remarked. “Think anyone’s home?”

“One way to find out.”

“Not camping after all, then?” Martin asked, eyeing the building hesitantly.

“Shelter’s shelter,” Tim pointed out, nudging his mount forward. “Let’s at least knock at the door.”

There was no answer. Not that Sasha was surprised—as dark as it was, it wasn’t that late, and she could see no light from within. Up close, the little house looked small and dark and abandoned. Sasha dismounted to try the door and found it unlocked.

“Probably some woodsman or hunter’s hut, by the look of it,” said Tim, lowering himself to the ground beside her. “Hopefully they won’t mind us borrowing it for the night.”

Martin hung back, fretting quietly. “I don’t really like the look of this place.”

“Well, it’s this or sleep outside with the cold and bugs,” Sasha replied. “Your call, Martin—you are the boss, after all.”

Their employer made another unhappy noise. For a moment, Sasha was half-sure he would insist on camping after all—

As if on cue, a raindrop landed on her cheek.

Martin sighed. “Guess we don’t have much of a choice, do we.”

“Thank the gods,” Tim muttered under his breath.

There was no stable attached to the cottage, but there was a wooden canopy of sorts constructed outside. It was large enough to shelter their horses from the rain. By the time their mounts were seen to, the drops had increased to a steady drizzle. Sasha was eager to get inside.

Inside, the cottage was simple and rustic. It was a bit small to be someone’s home, butit had all the trappings of one: a kitchen with a small larder, a bedroom off to the side, and a central sitting room of sorts in the middle of it all, complete with a hearth. It was also a horrible mess, and a quick look around proved it to be the hideout of some hunter or other. Old bowstrings, unfinished arrows, and other simple weaponswere stashed into various hiding places, including rusty old knives for field-dressing. Stains on the floor showed where game had been dragged, stored, and butchered in the past.

“Charming,” Sasha said dryly.

“Not everyone can be a homemaker,” said Tim. “Least we’re out of the rain.”

“Small mercies,” Martin murmured. He didn’t seem any happier to be in here than he had before, but as long as he wasn’t ordering them out of the place, Sasha wasn’t about to worry about it.

There was one bed in the place, unfortunately stripped of bedding. Sasha laid her bedroll out on the floor instead.

“Should we set up a watch?” she asked, as the others made their own sleeping arrangements.

“Might as well, just in case someone comes back.” With a sigh, Tim dragged out a dusty chair and sat in it. “I’ll go first. Er, Martin…?”

“I can take the last watch,” said Martin. He looked to Sasha. “If you don’t mind going second?”

“Sounds good to me. In that case, I think I’ll get a head start on sleep. Night, you two.”

Despite everything—the unfamiliar surroundings, the hard floor, Martin’s misgivings—sleep came to Sasha more easily than it had in quite some time.

Of course it did. She was _free_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who need a visual aid, here is the [map of Tal'Dorei](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/criticalrole/images/6/62/Map_of_Tal%27Dorei_Campaign_Setting.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180515120647) that I've been using for reference.

Tim woke to the sound of quiet humming.

There was light in the cottage, pale and silver as it streamed through the windows. As he blinked the bleariness of sleep from his eyes, he noted that it was morning, and it was early, and someone was humming from the kitchen.

With a quiet grunt, Tim sat up and looked around. Sasha was asleep, but stirring, so it was Martin in the kitchen, tending to a kettle that steamed gently. He looked as if he had hardly slept, but the tune on his lips was decently cheerful. Tim wondered, with no small amount of dread, if he had invited another morning person into his life.

Sasha stirred again, on the edge of waking up, so Tim cleared his throat and said, “Morning.”

“Morning,” Martin replied, with a weary smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tea’s almost ready, if you’d like some.”

“I could go for a cup.” Tim climbed to his feet and stretched lazily, working out the kinks from sleeping on the floor all night. “You all right? You look a bit tired.”

“Just this place,” Martin replied. In the pause that followed, Tim wondered if he was going to leave it at that, but he went on after a few moments. “It’s just… sleeping somewhere new. It’s hard. And this place gives me the creeps. Sort of wish we didn’t stay the night here, but I suppose it was better than the rain.”

“You still on that?” Sasha yawned. “What’s wrong with it? I’ve slept in weirder places than some hut in the woods.”

Instead of answering right away, Martin set out two steaming cups and took a third for himself. Tim went to grab one of them, with Sasha not far behind.

It was nice tea. Certainly nicer than anything he would expect on the road.

Martin nodded toward the central room of the cottage. “It was dark last night,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t see that until the sun started to come up.”

“See what…?” Tim followed his gaze, then blinked in surprise. Sure enough, there were marks on the floor that he hadn’t noticed the night before. There was no pattern to them, just a scattered array of blackened scorch marks and gouges. “Huh. Wonder what did that.”

He looked to Sasha, and found her watching Martin. “Do _you_ know?” she asked. “You’ve been weird about this place since we got here. Is there something about it we should know?”

An uncertain look flashed across Martin’s face, and one finger tapped an irregular rhythm on the rim of his cup. Eventually, he shrugged. “Dunno if it matters, since we’re leaving soon. I’ve just… I’ve heard stories, about things going on in the Bramblewood, and finding this place in the woods, in the dark, reminded me of them.”

“Wait, you don’t mean the Shieldhound, do you?” Tim broke in.

Martin blinked, hands stilling around his cup. “The… Shieldhound?”

“You’re Westruun born and raised, aren’t you?” said Sasha. “You’ve got to know about the Shieldhound.”

“It sounds sort of familiar, but…”

“Guess they were never more than stories,” Sasha mused. “Anyway, supposedly the Shields in Westruun had some sort of… secret weapon, or something. Never could figure out if it was supposed to be an actual beast of some sort, or just a nickname for one of their members.”

“It was enough to keep the Clasp quiet for years,” Tim added. “But the whispers have died down recently, and the Clasp has gotten bolder again.”

Martin glanced around again, looking even more worried than before. “Oh. I hadn’t heard about any of that.”

“Then what sort of stories were you talking about?” Sasha pressed.

“Oh. Well, you know the magical properties of midwinter?”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “The what?”

“The veil between planes is thinnest during the solstice,” Sasha explained. “Wizards _love_ midwinter—it’s the best time for rituals, magical experiments, spells, that sort of thing.”

Martin nodded. “Right, yeah.”

“What about it?” Tim asked.

“There have been… rumors, I guess,” said Martin. “That, last Winter’s Crest, something—someone attempted something, in the Bramblewood. Some spell or ritual. And—it’s only rumor, but supposedly there was a murder involved.”

Tim found his gaze drawn back to the stained floors. “And you didn’t think to mention that before?”

Martin shrugged apologetically. “Honestly, I was sort of hoping it’d be an advantage? The Clasp always knows all the rumors and gossip. I thought if we were being chased by some of them, then maybe rumors about ritual murder in the Bramblewood would make them too nervous to follow us here.” He paused again. “Sorry.”

Sasha downed the rest of her tea. “Very interesting,” she said. “You’ve convinced me. Let’s get the _hell_ out of here.”

* * *

By midday, they finally broke through the treeline. South of the Bramblewood, the Dividing Plains stretched on and on. Trees were sparse beyond this point; what few could be seen in the distance were clumped into small groves and copses, surrounded by rolling grassland dulled to brown and yellow in the late winter’s cold.

Not far from where the Bramblewood ended, the Silvercut Roadway curved south and westward through the plain, until it crossed with a far-off river and was lost from view. Beyond, the grassland slowly rose and rolled into a small cluster of mountains.

Sasha could barely muffle a noise of delight. After half a day spent surrounded by trees and dodging roots to keep the horses from stumbling, the open air was a welcome change. And besides that, it was _pretty_ , gray skies and yellow grass and all.

“What’s with you?” Tim asked.

“I haven’t been out this far west on Tal’Dorei before,” Sasha replied, a bit defensively. “The view’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s alright,” Tim said, infuriatingly nonchalant. Sasha tried to jab at him, and he leaned to the side to dodge. “Those are nice-looking mountains, though. That’ll be Ironseat.”

“Ironseat Ridge,” Martin added. “Once we pass those mountains, we’ll be about halfway to Emon.”

“It’ll take a couple days just to get that far, unless we really push the horses,” Tim remarked. “What do you think, Martin? How fast do you want to get there?”

Martin pursed his lips, considering. “The Silvercut Crossroads are just north of the ridge,” he said after a moment. “We can get there tomorrow night, make camp.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Sasha. “C’mon, let’s get to the road—I think we’re all getting tired of struggling through underbrush.”

“Struggling?” Tim said innocently. “Who’s struggling?”

“Oh shut up, Tim.”

When they reached the road, the going got easier, and a bit less isolated. It wasn’t exactly bustling, but from time to time they passed others along the way—single wagons, full caravans, and lone travelers all made equal use of the Silvercut Roadway.

Tim said it was more crowded than this, the last time he came this way. Of course, he’d gone in the middle of spring, and it was late winter now. As clear as it was today, the weather was a long way from losing its bite. And out here in the open plains, there was nowhere to hide from the cold winds.

Still, they made decent time, and as night fell that evening, they found a small cluster of trees in which to make camp. It was just about as restful as staying in the cottage the previous night, between the lack of shelter in one and the unsettling surroundings in the other.

This time, however, Sasha was roused by a nudge from Tim, and opened her eyes far too early for it to be her watch. Instinctively she groped for her rapier, which lay within easy reach.

“We’ve got company,” Tim said bluntly.

She looked to Martin—they had a job to do, after all—and found him already blinking awake, gripping a handaxe that he’d left within easy reach before going to sleep. In a matter of moments they were all on their feet, facing outward into the few trees. Rapier in hand, Sasha scanned the darkness and spotted undergrowth parting in the distance.

She opened her mouth to warn the others, but the familiar hiss of arrows cut her off. She felt one whiz by her ear, right before Tim gave a full-body flinch and a grunt of pain.

“Tim?” Sasha hissed.

He was already steady again, stepping closer to Martin with an arrow nocked. “Just a graze, I’m fine,” he said grimly. “Go do your thing.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Sasha broke away and fled to the shadows. She could see two of their attackers skulking in the dark, men armed with shortswords, hastening closer. Sasha skirted around them, light on her feet as she searched for the archers. Two arrows in quick succession suggested two long-range fighters covering the swordsmen. That meant four of them at least, unless they had a mage squirreled away in the undergrowth as well.

A low whistle reached her ears, not from the attacking men but from the campsite she was leaving behind. From Martin, in fact. Moments later, four glowing lights materialized in midair, illuminating their campsite and its immediate surroundings. Sasha bit back a curse as the circle of light fell upon her. Noiselessly, she slipped out of range and continued to search for the archers.

She found one standing well back, another arrow at the ready. Behind her came the twang of a bowstring and an unfamiliar cry of pain, and Sasha allowed herself a smile. Martin’s hasty spell wasn’t a total rookie move; Tim’s eyes were useless in the dark, but with Martin lighting the place up, he couldn’t miss.

The archer was too focused on sighting his target to see her coming. A twist of her rapier blade wrenched the arrow out of his hands, before the knife in her other hand cut through his bowstring. With a muffled curse, the man drew a knife of his own and slashed out at her, but she dodged back nimbly and managed to get the tip of her rapier blade through the meat of his right bicep.

Behind her, metal clashed with metal; Tim must have drawn his sword. She had to deal with this and get back to them soon.

The split second’s distraction almost cost her when her enemy’s knife raked over her collarbone, drawing blood. A little higher, and he would have slit her throat. Gritting her teeth, Sasha planted her hand on his chest, satisfied when she felt cheap leather armor. Lightning crackled at her fingertips, and the man shuddered with a choked cry. His next strike missed, and Sasha brought the pommel of her rapier down on his head as hard as she could. The man went limp and slumped to the ground, out like a light.

Sasha pressed her hand to the gash as she relieved him of his weapons. The bow was cheaply-made trash, but Tim could always use more arrows. There was still one archer left to deal with, but she could regroup with the others before she handled him.

This proved to be a mistake.

As soon as Sasha stepped into the glow of the dancing lights, and she heard the distant twang of a bowstring. Pain erupted in her shoulder, and she nearly went down with a yell of pain. Teeth gritted, she looked back just in time to see one of the swordsmen charging at her. Instinctively she raised her rapier, just barely too slow to strike first. Her wounded shoulder screamed, her vision went white, and the rapier was smashed out of her hand. Sasha narrowly dodged another swing, retrieving her fallen weapon with a hasty mage-hand. But the swordsman before her was still fresh, armed with a heavier weapon, and ready to kill her.

Above her, the lights went out, plunging the area into darkness. Sasha saw the swordsman falter, his human eyes next to useless. But before she could react, the light returned from above.

It was not a dancing light. It was pale as moonlight and tinged with green, descending like a comet on the swordsman until it wreathed him like flame.

Fear and revulsion hit her like a physical blow. Her attacker screamed, crumpling to the ground as the radiance took its toll. Beyond him, Martin loomed in the shadows, one hand clutching something against his chest, eyes glowing faintly with power.

From there, it was over quickly. The radiant flames died down, leaving the swordsman burned but alive. The other swordsman was already limping away with two of Tim’s arrows in him. With Sasha’s archer incapacitated, the remaining archer apparently didn’t like their chances against three.

Sasha watched the bandits retreat before returning to their camp where, as always, Tim was there to needlessly fuss.

“Shit, Sasha,” he muttered, pressing a kerchief to the cut below her neck. “You gotta be more careful.”

“Got you a present,” she replie, lifting the stolen quiver with her good arm.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have—look, just put that down before you hurt yourself worse.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but carefully lowered herself to the ground by her bedroll. “I’m serious. One arrow, one flesh wound—I’ve had worse. Besides—” She bit her lip. Besides, they were _bodyguards_. They were supposed to be protecting Martin, not the other way around.

As if on cue, Martin was at her side, hands hovering over her wounds. “I can—if you want?”

Sasha almost laughed. “Yes, thanks, Martin. I’d rather not ruin this shirt.”

He pursed his lips in an almost smile, and put his hand carefully on her shoulder. The eerie glow suffused his eyes again, along with a single point on his chest, somewhere underneath his shirt and scarf. _Holy symbol, probably,_ she thought muzzily. Something about the intensity of his eyes made her want to squirm away, but she gritted her teeth and rode out the feeling until the pain lessened.

“Thanks,” she said again.

Martin looked relieved. “It’s no trouble.”

“And thanks for the assist back there,” she said. “I’ve never seen a sacred flame spell up close before.”

He blinked, surprised. “Oh, really? I-I guess it’s… sort of the first time I’ve used it? On a person, that is. It’s a common spell, though.”

“Yeah, well.” Sasha pulled a face. “Last few fights I’ve been in, I wasn’t exactly in the company of god-fearing folk, you know?”

“Oh. I-I see.” His hand shook with post-battle jitters as he took it back. Sasha’s heart went out to him when she noticed; this was probably the first proper fight he’d ever been in. Shame they had to be on the wrong side of a night ambush; those were never pleasant. That feeling of violation was always the worst part.

Tim returned a few minutes later, tired-looking but satisfied. “They’re gone,” he told them. “They even dragged off the one Sasha took down. I doubt they’ll try again tonight.”

“Need any healing?” Martin offered.

“Nah, it’s just a scratch.” By now, his shirt sleeve was thoroughly soaked.

“It’s really not a problem,” Martin insisted. “My magic comes back when I sleep, remember?”

Sasha poked him hard, careful to avoid the wound. “Just take it, Tim. It wouldn’t even make a nice scar.”

Tim put his hands up, resigned. “Fine, fine. Lay it on me, Martin.”

As careful as Martin was, Tim still shuddered slightly as the healing spell wiped away the arrow graze. Martin was quietly apologetic all the while, as if he knew his amateur spellcasting was uncomfortable. But in the end, it did the job.

“So, uh…” Martin hesitated. “Was that anyone you recognized?”

“That wasn’t the Clasp,” Tim said flatly.

“Definitely not,” Sasha agreed.

Martin frowned. “You’re sure?”

“The Clasp may be criminals, but it still functions like a guild,” Sasha explained. “It’s organized. They have established businesses—drug trade, smuggling, that sort of thing—and it makes for a stable income. The only reasons they’d target someone is if they’re robbing them or fulfilling a contract.”

“And you don’t think those four were doing either of those things.”

“Nope,” Tim said blithely. “Robbery’s a high-risk business, and the Clasp won’t sanction it unless there’s a high reward. And if they were attacking us on a contract—like, say, if a certain persistent asshole sent them after us—then they’d come prepared with intel. Those idiots had no idea what to expect from us.”

“Way I see it, they spotted a campsite full of travelers they barely outnumbered and took a chance,” Sasha finished, nodding in agreement. And I doubt they’ll risk trying again tonight.”

Martin relaxed visibly. “Right. That’s… that’s good, then.”

“Sure is.” Tim swallowed a yawn. “Well, I’ve got an hour or so left on my watch. Both of you may as well get back to sleep, if you can. Sash, I’ll wake you when it’s your turn.”

“You’re a dear,” Sasha murmured, already curling up in her bedroll again.

Peaceful quiet settled over their campsite once more. Martin was already out like a light, probably worn out from all the spellcasting. For Sasha the buzz of adrenaline had passed, and she felt her weariness creep back in to take its place.

First hurdle, cleared. They’d fought off bandits while sleepy and missing some of their gear, and that boded well.

They could do this. For the first time since Martin pitched them his offer, Vasselheim seemed properly within reach.

* * *

It took another two days to reach the Silvercut Crossroads.

The road took them west over the Dividing Plains, across the bridge spanning the river, until finally the cluster of mountains marking the Ironseat Ridge seemed close enough to reach out and touch. After their one midnight attack, no other brigands or highwaymen bothered them. Either they’d run into bad luck early on, or word had gotten out that the three of them were not to be trifled with.

That suited Tim just fine. He’d felt thoroughly out of his element ever since they left the Bramblewood behind. It was too open, that was the problem—nothing but flat ground and grassland for miles around. No trees, no cover, not even a proper hill until you got up close to the mountains. He had half a mind to badger the other two into cutting through the Ironseat mountains, just to tide him over for that last long stretch of road to Emon.

Could be worse, though. He could be back in the damned swamp.

Tim set his jaw. If Danny could make it from Stilben to Stormcrest when they were kids, then he could hold out without complaining about a bit of grass.

The sun was setting past the mountain peaks when they reached the crossroads. It wasn’t much to look at, lovely view notwithstanding. There was a trough and a place to hitch horses, at least. Scattered in the grass off the roads were the remains of camps set up and abandoned. Charred wood from old cooking fires, stakes and tattered bits of canvas, and other refuse showed where previous travelers had bedded down for the night.

At the point where the two roads met, a single sign post helpfully indicated each direction. To the west, on the road they currently traveled, lay Emon. To the southeast, winding around the outskirts of the mountain, lay Kymal. Northward, in the opposite direction on the road to Kymal, led to Kraghammer in the Cliffkeep Mountains. And behind them, of course, was Westruun.

“We can stop here,” Martin said in a hesitantly neutral tone, like he couldn’t decide whether to make it a command or a request.

“Sounds good,” said Sasha.

Their nightly routine was still a bit clumsy and stilted, but it was beginning to take form as a proper routine. Martin tended to the horses while Sasha and Tim picked a spot and laid out their things for the night. Luckily there was still plenty of light to work by, and between the three of them they managed to set up camp without much of a struggle. Trail rations made for a bland but sufficient dinner; there wasn’t much else to be had.

“Straight shot to Emon, right?” Sasha asked, looking out to the road ahead.

“More days of wandering out in the open,” Tim said testily, chewing on a particularly tough bit of dried meat. “No towns or anything, so. Hope we’re all used to eating like this.”

“You could hunt,” Sasha said dryly.

“Sash, you know the plains aren’t where I’m at my best. I need _cover_.”

“Um, actually,” Martin broke in. “Technically both roads lead to Emon, so.”

“Both?” Sasha echoed.

“That one, I mean,” Martin pointed to the road that led south. “That way leads to Kymal, but eventually it bends to the west and passes through the Emerald Outpost before reaching Emon. It’s longer—it’d probably take at least another week—but there are more towns to stop in, and it’s not pure grassland all the way.”

“Ohh, Martin, don’t tempt Tim,” Sasha said, half-joking.

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Tim said quietly. It was a tempting offer, to be sure. But the longer they took to reach Emon, the longer it would take to reach Vasselheim and its safety. He couldn’t ask that of Sasha, not just for his own comfort.

“Though, now I think of it…” Sasha frowned, considering. “If we’re being followed… they haven’t caught up yet, have they? So maybe if we covered our tracks properly, they’d assume we went west to go straight to Emon. Maybe it’d be better to throw them off.”

“But the delay,” Tim reminded her.

“Right, right.”

“I’ve got a spell I could use,” Martin offered. Before either of them could answer, he pulled his pouch into his lap and dug through it. After a moment of searching he drew out a few things—a book, a small mirror, a palm-sized stone polished to perfect smoothness and etched with runes—before finding what he was looking for. Laying a set of four dice on the ground between them, he put everything else back in the bag.

“What sort of spell?” Sasha asked, instantly curious.

Martin shook the dice carefully in his palm. “It’s called Augury,” he answered. “Just a bit of light divination. I can ask about a course of action, and the spell will tell me if it’s a good idea or not.”

Sasha’s eyes lit up with interest. “The dice tell you?”

“Yeah. Sixes are good, ones are bad, and if it doesn’t have an answer for me they’ll fall on everything _but_ sixes and ones.”

“Just as long as you don’t have to slice up an animal and read its entrails or something,” said Tim, leaning forward eagerly.

“Pretty sure that’s haruspicy, actually…”

“Bless you,” said Tim. “Let’s see it, then.”

“Right.” Martin shifted to sit crosslegged, pulling a second scarf from his pouch as he did so. He laid it on top of the grass, smoothed it out flat, and closed his eyes.

The air around them changed. Tim could feel it, practically smell it on the breeze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he became abruptly and sharply aware of himself, of the physical space he took up. He could feel his tongue in his mouth, limp and shapeless and cumbersome, he could feel the breath going in and out of his chest, and if he focused further he could almost feel his own heartbeat. He fidgeted uncomfortably, hating the awareness, unable to shake the idea that if he lost it, he might choke on his tongue. He might forget how to breathe. His heart might forget how to beat.

He felt _small_ , and _weak_ , and _petty_ , and more than anything else he felt like everyone and everything that saw him knew it.

Martin opened his eyes, and cast the dice onto the cloth. They rolled end over end, finally settling after a few seconds had passed.

Four ones.

The spell ended without warning or fanfair, and Tim barely stopped himself from gasping for breath.

“Well,” Martin said quietly. “That’s… not what I expected.”

“What—” Sasha’s voice almost shook. “You rolled four ones, so I take it that wasn’t good?”

“I asked what would happen if we took the road straight to Emon,” Martin answered, frowning. “I don’t know why—usually for questions as broad as that, I get a mix of the two.”

“What about the other road?” Sasha pressed. “Can you ask again?”

“I can—yeah, I can cast it again, I’m about to sleep anyway.” Martin pursed his lips worriedly. “Just bear with me, I guess. I know it’s not fun to watch.”

This time, Tim was prepared when the feeling came to him. In fact, he rode it out pretty successfully, if he did say so himself. It wasn’t a nice feeling, but… well, if this what it felt like to borrow power from a god, the least Tim could do was get used to it.

This time, when Martin cast the dice, they landed on an even split of two fours and two ones.

“Guess that settles that.” Sasha heaved a sigh. “Looks like we’re taking the long way, then.”

“You could try casting it again tomorrow?” Tim said hopefully. “In case you got a false positive—or, negative or whatever.”

Martin still looked troubled. “Sure, yeah… And if it’s the same?”

“Then we take the long way,” Tim said simply. “I’d rather get a mix of good and bad than just the bad, thanks ever so much.”

“Yeah, that’s… probably for the best.” Martin put the dice away. “Wow. That’s… wasn’t expecting that.”

“Was that your first time casting that spell?” Sasha asked.

“Er, sort of, yeah.” Martin pursed his lips. “I think I mentioned I was very new? I’m still figuring it all out, and my connection can be… spotty, sometimes.”

“Well, it worked out this time,” Tim pointed out. “Good think you checked the paths when you did.”

Martin had first watch that night, and he seemed to make good use of it. As Tim bedded down, a wisp of scented smoke reached his nostrils, and he looked over to find that Martin had lit a stick of incense in the campfire coals. Thin gray wisps curled up from the tip, spreading the sweet smell to the whole crossroads. As Tim watched, sleepy-eyed, Martin dug something out of his pouch, held it in his palm, and focused.

For just a moment, the uncomfortable sensation from before returned. Tim shifted in his bedroll, fighting the urge to tuck his head under the blanket and sleep through the night like a frightened child. This time it passed quickly, tension snapping like a thread wound too tight.

Over by the campfire, Martin heaved a sigh put the incense aside to let it burn down. Tim wondered briefly about it, before sleep swiftly overtook him and he knew no more.

* * *

Sasha hated it when she woke before her watch was due to start.

Granted, she hadn’t traveled like this in years, but waking up before she was meant to was always a pain. She needed to be alert, she needed all the sleep she could get, so _why_ was her body insisting on waking up before it was time?

She waited for the exhaustion to crash over her like a punishment, but to her surprise, all she felt was the softness of her makeshift pillow, the smooth patch of ground beneath her that she’d cleared of twigs and rocks before lying down, and the sturdy thickness of her cloak and bedroll. It was cold outside of them, the late winter chill leaking through in faint wisps. But she was warm, and the knowledge that the cold couldn’t reach her in here only made her drift deeper into drowsy comfort.

It was then that she heard the singing.

Low, soft, as faint as the cold. But it was there, quiet and soothing, folding her further into the comfort of rest.

Somewhat reluctantly, Sasha opened her eyes and lifted her head.

Martin sat by the glow of the burned-down campfire, head tipped back to watch the sky. Sasha could see his breath come out in pale clouds as he continued to sing, rocking slightly back and forth in time to the melody.

Beside her, Tim was breathing quietly and deeply. That in itself was a miracle, because no matter what Tim might claim, he snored.

Sasha cast her eyes upward to the moon, noting its place in the sky. It was almost her turn to keep watch. May as well get up; if she went back to sleep now, she’d only make herself drowsy and muddled when Martin did wake her. With some reluctance, she crawled out of her bedroll with her cloak wrapped tightly around her. Over by the fire, Martin went silent.

The coals were still warm when she joined him, and she sighed with relief when it chased the cold from her face. “Didn’t know you sang,” she said, keeping her voice low.

He shrugged. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Don’t think so. And it’s fine.” Sasha hoped he could see her reassuring smile. Human eyes were a bit spotty in the dark. “You didn’t have to stop, you know. You’ve got a nice voice.”

Martin fidgeted, muttering dismissively. “Not that good.”

“I mean it,” Sasha insisted. “I’ve heard people who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. I almost went right back to sleep when I heard you.” He looked away, though she could see the beginnings of a smile trying its best to creep over his face. “If this cleric business doesn’t work out for you, you’ve got a promising bardic career.”

For a moment, the relaxed slump of Martin’s spine went rigid. It passed quickly, though not before Sasha noticed.

“Martin?” she said hesitantly, when he didn’t reply. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “It’s fine, really, just… was it that obvious?”

“Was…?” Sasha’s sleepy mind caught up, and her eyes widened. “Oh. You were a bard?”

“Ehh.” Martin shrugged again. “I went to school for it, at least. Wasn’t really much of a singer, though, that was more of a hobby.”

“Play an instrument, then?”

“Er… no.” Martin looked away, fidgeting again. “I was, uh. I-I mean, I told you I’ve always been interested in history and lore. But I was sort of—I wrote poetry.” He said it in a rush, clearly embarrassed.

“Ohhh.” Sasha tried not to sound too delighted. “A holy man, a singer, _and_ a poet. You’re a man of many talents, Mr. Blackwood.” She was going for a laugh and got a smile, which—good enough. “Do you still write?”

“Not in a while. I don’t think I could write like I used to, if I tried. The whole bard thing…” Martin’s voice trailed off, his breath curling in clouds that faded and vanished. “It didn’t work out, that’s all. Didn’t even finish school.”

“I’m sorry,” Sasha said quietly, for lack of a better thing to say.

Martin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s fine. Lots of things haven’t worked out the way I wanted. The bard thing’s the least of it, really.”

“…Oh.” Sasha watched as Martin prodded at the campfire with a stick. “Can I ask what happened?” It came out quieter than she intended, and Martin took so long to answer that she wondered if he’d heard her at all.

“My mum got sick,” he said finally. “I had to come back home, take care of things, and… I ended up giving up a lot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s been a while since she died.” Martin tossed the stick into the fire. “I’d hardly seen her for months when it happened. N-not that I didn’t try, it’s just… she was traditional, she didn’t like some of the things I… and after I went off to school for it she—I’d send her letters, but—and then by the time I went home…” Martin shook his head. “Sorry, that’s not—you didn’t want to hear that—”

“It’s alright, Martin, I was the one who asked.” Sasha hesitated, then carefully laid her hand against his arm. “I take it this is what you meant, when you said you didn’t have anything keeping you in Westruun?”

“Yeah, more or less.” Martin heaved a quiet sigh. “Just felt like I ended up alone overnight. Never had a lot of friends, and the few I did have… they’d moved on already.”

Sasha nodded. “One of them’s in Vasselheim, right?”

“Two, actually. I’d really like to see them again. I’ve—” Abruptly Martin went silent and sat up straight.

Instinctively, Sasha turned her attention outward. It didn’t take her long to spot what Martin had—it was hard to miss a person standing within spitting range of your campsite. With a flick of her hand, she whispered a message and aimed it at Tim’s ear.

“ _Wake up, there’s someone here._ ”

Tim was up in seconds, short sword in hand even as he blinked sleep from his eyes. His gaze landed on the tall, cloaked figure standing just beyond their camp, and he eased into a ready stance.

The figure lifted their empty hands, letting their cloak slip back to reveal no weapons at their side. “I don’t mean any harm. I saw your fire from a distance. May I join you?”

Sasha shared a glance with the others. Tim was as wary as ever around strangers, and Martin was watching the figure with obvious suspicion. She didn’t blame him; this could be some sort of trap. Just because they hadn’t been attacked in a couple of days didn’t mean they never would be again.

“I won’t stay long.” Their visitor had the sort of voice that carried even when speaking softly. “Just a moment to rest and warm myself, and then I’ll be off.”

Sasha looked to Tim again. The wariness was softening, just a bit. It… couldn’t hurt, could it? It wasn’t like there were many other places to stop and rest nearby.

“Martin?” said Sasha, because after all, he was the one paying them.

He hesitated, then gave a curt nod. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” The traveler moved closer to the fire, choosing a spot to sit at a polite distance from the rest of them. The cowl went back, and the dim firelight fell upon a dark, handsome face. Deep black eyes seemed to draw in the light without giving it back. A fresh-looking scar curved up the side of his jaw to his cheek. His hood and cloak, draped neatly over his shoulders, were lined with black iridescent feathers.

“So, do you always wander around in the middle of the night unarmed?” she asked. “Seems a bit risky. I mean, we could be anyone.”

The stranger hesitated, and it was Martin who broke the silence. “Not everyone needs a weapon to be dangerous.” Unlike Tim, he hadn’t let his guard down an inch.

“I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself,” the man said to Sasha. “But thank you for your concern.” Then, turning his head, he met Martin’s suspicion with cool patience. “And I’m really not here to harm anyone, I assure you.”

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Tim broke in, cautiously friendly. “We had some trouble a couple of nights ago. Late-night ambush, you know how it is.”

“Yes, of course, I understand completely.”

“Great,” Tim said brightly. “So, on that note, what _are_ you doing out here? Who are you?”

“You may call me Blake,” he replied, and Martin scoffed quietly under his breath. “Yes, you’re very clever, obviously it’s a false name.” White teeth flashed in a sheepish smile. “Please don’t be offended—we’ve only just met, after all. As for why I’m in these parts… that question’s a bit more difficult.” He toyed with his cloak, preening feathers with his fingers. “I suppose you could say I’m keeping an eye out.”

He might have left it at that, if Tim hadn’t broken the silence. “Gonna tell us what you’re looking for, or are you that dedicated to the alluring-cryptic-stranger bit?”

Blake raised an eyebrow at him. “Alluring?”

“I know what I said.”

That got a quiet laugh, much to Tim’s satisfaction. It was a brief thing, there and gone again the next moment. “Something dangerous,” Blake replied. “Potentially dangerous, at least. The sort of thing that might draw my lady’s attention.” The feathers flashed in the firelight again, black and iridescent. Raven’s feathers.

“You serve the Raven Queen?” said Sasha, and Blake smiled.

“I do.”

Sasha relaxed the rest of the way. The Raven Queen’s people were good, if a bit odd. Hard to find fault with people who took issue with undead abominations. “Well. Don’t think you’ll find anything like that here. It’s been quiet all night, hasn’t it, Martin?”

“Not unless your queen picks fights with owls,” Martin said dryly.

His tone was biting, but Sasha could see the way his hands trembled in his lap. Poor man was spooked, not that she blamed him after the last time they had late-night visitors. Tim must have noticed too, because he reached over to give him a secretive but reassuring pat.

Rather than being offended, Blake simply nodded to concede the point. “Well, you’re not wrong. That’s why I’m merely passing through.”

“Wait, what kind of danger _are_ you looking for?” Tim asked sharply. “Should _we_ be worried?”

“You’re safe for now, I think,” Blake assured him. “As for what the future holds, I couldn’t tell you precisely. It’s what I’m meant to find out.” He paused. “And, at the end of the day, it really isn’t up to me.”

“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?” Sasha pressed, but Blake simply smiled and continued to warm his hands.

Their visitor sat with them a few minutes longer, eyes hooded as he rested, before taking a breath and rising again. “And on that note, I must leave you. Thank you for allowing me a place at your fire, however brief.”

“Sure,” Sasha said uncertainly. “Good luck with your search, I guess.”

Blake smiled. For all that he was finished resting, it was the weariest smile Sasha had ever seen. “And good luck on your journey, wherever it takes you.” His black eyes flicked from Sasha to Tim to Martin. “All of you.”

Tim grinned again with all his teeth. It wasn’t threatening, though, far from it. Sometimes Tim just took one look at someone and decided to like them. “Thanks, Blake, or whoever you are. Hope we run into each other again.”

“Goodbye,” Martin said stiffly.

Blake nodded to them, pulled up the hood of his cloak, and set off into the night.

“Martin?” Tim said, once their visitor was gone. “If you know something we don’t, now’s the time to say it.”

“To be fair, that was pretty weird,” Sasha pointed out.

“He wasn’t human,” Martin said with a certainty that surprised her.

There was an awkward silence as Sasha and Tim exchanged a glance. Sasha coughed. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, Martin, but neither am I.”

Martin at least had the grace to look chagrined. “No, I mean—he was _something else._ ” He pursed his lips, troubled. “I don’t know what he was, but he wasn’t—he wasn’t human, or elf, or tiefling, or… I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Sasha sighed. She was right back to feeling uneasy again. “Well, he’s gone now,” she said. “So, best thing we can do is get all the rest we can. Speaking of, it’s my turn to watch, so both of you go back to bed.”

“Are you sure?’ Martin asked worriedly. “I can stay up a little longer, keep you company.”

“ _Bed_ , Martin.”

Grumbling, he rose to comply. Tim clapped her on the shoulder and returned to bed, and Sasha was left alone by the fire, keeping watch while her companions rested.

It was odd, though. Sasha could see quite well in the dark. She prided herself on it, especially when she spent so much time joined at the hip to a human who couldn’t. But as she looked in the direction that Blake had taken, and then every direction besides, she couldn’t see where he’d gone.

He’d simply vanished, as if he’d melted into the shadows themselves.


	3. Chapter 3

When dawn broke, Martin cast his Augury spell again, to the same results. Within an hour, they were mounted up and heading down the southern path.

“So that was weird, right?” said Tim, once he realized no one else was going to bring it up. “What happened last night? That was a weird thing to happen, and he was a weird person.”

“Didn’t stop you, did it?” Sasha answered dryly, and Tim put his hand to his heart, because honestly, she could be _so rude_ sometimes.

“It’s called _being polite,_ ” he retorted. “Besides, I was just trying to make up for Martin.”

“ _I_ was just trying to guard the camp,” Martin grumbled. “You know, my job at the time?”

“No, it’s fine, Martin,” Sasha assured him. “It was good to be wary, because it _was_ very weird, and we had no way of knowing his intentions.”

“Still don’t, in fact,” Tim added. “But what are the odds we’ll even see him again? He’s wandering the plains and we’re headed to Vasselheim.”

“With the route we’re taking, we’ll be spending plenty of time in the plains ourselves,” Sasha reminded him. “It’s a big place, but you never know.”

Tim tried not to pull a face. At least if they were going the long way around Ironseat, they’d spend more time by the mountains. “How much time did you say this would add to the journey?” he asked, with a glance at Martin.

“Should add less than a week,” Martin replied. “I’d say… between three and six days? According to the maps.”

“And Kymal?”

“We can make it by tonight if we hurry.”

“Oh we are _absolutely_ making it tonight,” Sasha said firmly, nudging her horse into a trot. “We’ve got three to six extra days on the road, gentlemen! I’m not missing any opportunity to sleep in a real bed.”

“I mean, not to split hairs, but you wouldn’t be missing it, just delaying it,” Tim pointed out.

“No, she’s right,” said Martin. “If we don’t make it to Kymal tonight, then we’ll get there too early tomorrow to bother stopping.”

“Chop-chop!” Sasha barked over her shoulder at them, and Tim chuckled as he caught up to her.

“So!” he said, because it was apparently going to be up to him to keep conversation going. “What sort of disaster do you think would’ve befallen us, if we’d taken the straight path to Emon?”

“More bandits, maybe?” Martin suggested.

“Better bandits?” Sasha offered. “The last ones weren’t really up to scratch, were they.”

“Or, you know, you two _are_ on the run from a criminal,” Martin pointed out. “Taking the straight path could’ve given them the opportunity to catch up.”

“True,” Sasha said with a nod. “Rentoul’s got a very one-track mind. If he’s figured out we’re heading for Emon, he’ll want to take the straight path.”

“Does that mean we’re in the clear for now?” Tim asked. “Think we’ve lost him?”

“Probably not,” said Martin. “The spell predicted weal _and_ woe if we went this way.”

“It predicted—what?”

“Weal and woe. It’s sort of… the terminology, I guess? For the Augury spell. Weal for good results, woe for bad. Going straight west yielded only woe, but going south yielded both.” Martin paused. “So, we’re not really avoiding the bad, just… balancing it out with some good.”

“Bit vague,” Tim remarked. “The spell doesn’t tell you what kind of good?”

Martin looked embarrassed. “It’s not a very strong spell.”

“Well, you’re a cleric of the god of knowledge,” said Tim. “Couldn’t you just… I don’t know. Ask? Isn’t there a spell for that?”

It was an innocent question, but the look of miserable embarrassment on Martin’s face made him regret asking. “Well, yes,” Martin admitted. “There’s a spell called Divination. But I’m not strong enough to cast it yet.”

“Oh.” Awkwardly, Tim reached over and gave him a cautious pat on the shoulder. “Well, that’s fine. Not like we’ve ever known the future before. I’m sure we’ll figure it out when it comes.”

“Isn’t a weal like a welt?” Sasha asked.

Tim blinked. The dejection on Martin’s face was swiftly replaced with confusion. “What?”

“A weal,” she repeated. “That’s like an injury, right? When you get smacked so hard the skin looks all raised and swollen? That’s a weal.”

“It—it’s another word for prosperity!” Martin sputtered out.

“Really? I’ve never heard it used like that before.”

“I mean, sure, it’s a little antiquated, but—”

“Just seems like an odd choice. Like whoever wrote the spell down just wanted the alliteration.”

“Words can mean more than one thing!”

Tim stared longingly at the road ahead.

* * *

The sun was balanced on the edge of the horizon when the lights of Kymal flickered into view. The sky overhead was deep cerulean and purple, overcast but still lit by the sunset, and the partial loss of daylight was just enough to make the city lights stand out from the distance. At the pace they were going, they could make it to the city gates before the sun dipped completely out of view.

“Well, I for one am ready to eat and sleep,” Sasha announced.

“And bathe,” Tim added.

“And bathe,” she agreed with a nod. “Not in that order, though.”

“Tim, you’ve been to Kymal before, right?” Martin asked. “What do you remember about it?”

“Not much,” Tim admitted, thinking back. The job had been a one-way escort trip, so there hadn’t been much reason to stick around once the caravan had arrived. “Small for a city, but it’s got a decent night life around the Maiden’s Wish. I’m not much of a gambler, though, so I just stayed the night at a cheap little inn, then hopped on the next caravan headed back to Westruun. Not much to tell, really.”

“What inn was it?”

“It was attached to the Wish,” Tim explained. “They called it the Outrigger, if I remember right. Not too bad a place, if you don’t mind the noise.”

“I could do without noise,” he heard Sasha mutter.

“Too bad, Sasha, night life means drunk people.”

“ _Fantastic_.”

Tim shrugged, grinning at the annoyance on her face. “Hey, the people here work hard and play hard, and I can respect that.”

The closer they got to the city, however, the more the quiet persisted. Even as they approached the city gates—neither as high nor as imposing as the walls that surrounded Westruun—Tim could hear none of the music and nighttime revelry that he remembered from his past visit. The gates stood open, but at Tim looked around, he couldn’t see a single guard.

“Odd,” he murmured. “Where is everyone?”

“Gatehouse,” Martin said. He pointed to the stone structure built into the wall beside the entrance. The windows were well-lit; when Tim looked, he spotted the missing guards watching from inside. “They’re keeping watch, but they’re not coming out.”

“Huh. Wasn’t like that last time.” Within moments they were through the gate and stepping onto the still streets within. The gatehouse door remained firmly shut.

“Bit quiet for a city with a night life, too,” Sasha pointed out. “I’m not sure I like this. Martin?”

Martin’s gaze lingered on the gatehouse. “Let’s find that inn,” he said after a moment. “If something’s happening, people are bound to be talking about it. Lead the way, Tim.”

“Right.” Tim guided his horse forward. “Give me a minute, it’s been a while.”

Even with the streets empty, it wasn’t hard to find the Maiden’s Wish. Whoever had built the place knew to put it right at the center of town, in the middle of a cluster of inns and drinking dens. It was a very convenient arrangement for the customers. In Tim’s memory the lights were a bright mix of oil lamps and mage lights, and the whole center of Kymal bustled with rowdy day laborers and tourists taking advantage of the food, drink, and games.

The lights were still as bright as ever. Even the windows seemed well lit, though most of them were shuttered. In spite of this, the streets were deserted, and when they reached the Outrigger Inn, a sign hanging on the front door read _NO VACANCIES_.

“Not a great sign,” Martin said, with a nervous look at the sky. There wasn’t much daylight left. “I don’t like the idea of wandering around after dark in this place.”

“Let’s keep moving, then,” Tim said tightly. “There’s bound to be somewhere with space.”

The next two inns they checked had similar signs up, and the third was fully locked and shuttered, but as they approached the fourth, the front door was flung open. Bright light spilled from the entryway, and a voice hailed them within.

“Hey!” A woman stood in the doorway, whisper-shouting urgently to them. “What in the Nine Hells are you three doing out here?”

Martin was already dismounting. “We’re just looking for a place to stay,” he replied. “Do you have room?”

“Yes we’ve got room,” she said in a rush. “Just—hurry up and get inside, alright?” She turned back and shouted to someone within, and moments later a pair of nervous-looking young men joined her. “They can see to your horses, I’ll take your payment inside.”

Tim hurriedly dismounted and grabbed his saddlebags, as the others did the same. The two stablehands took the reins of their mounts from them, and the innkeeper impatiently waved them all inside.

The main dining area was brightly lit and fairly crowded, but the mood was quietly grim. Conversation was hushed. Drinkers were sullenly quiet, not rowdy. A few customers looked up at them with vague curiosity that faded quickly. The innkeeper led them up to the counter, then ducked behind it to pull out a customer ledger and a money box.

“We’ve got one room available,” she said. “Two beds, but I’m sure the three of you can sort that out amongst yourselves.”

“Well—” Sasha began.

“The important part is, if you want to stay the night, you keep the lights on,” the innkeeper went on. “If those lights go out, the three of you are out on the street, understand?”

“Now wait a second,” Tim said sharply. “That’s a lot of demands for one night in one room.”

The innkeeper glared at him. “You can take it or leave it,” she snapped. “If you don’t like it, feel free to grab your horses and try your luck back out in the streets. In case you didn’t notice, the sun’s gone down already. I’m already risking having my stablehands out this late as it is.”

Martin looked taken aback, and Tim felt his temper flare. He opened his mouth, only for Sasha to elbow her way forward.

“Okay, wait—just—hold on.” Sasha took full advantage of her horn-enhanced height as she addressed the innkeeper, but she kept her tone carefully civil. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, we’re just a bit confused. We’ve been on the road all day, and we only just got here.” She glanced around at the subdued crowd in the dining area. “You’re talking like going outside at night is dangerous.”

The innkeeper scoffed quietly, but her irritation softened. “That’s because it is. D’you three want the room or not?”

A helpless look passed between the three of them. Sasha shrugged. Tim frowned but nodded reluctantly. “We’ll take it,” Martin said at last, already digging around for his purse. “How much?”

The woman traded payment for a room key, then put the money box away and marked something down in her ledger.

“There’s something going around in the city,” she said. “Some sickness, or curse, or something. Only seems to go after people who go out in the dark. So, people have been staying inside at night, locking the doors and keeping the lights on. Seems safer that way.”

Tim remembered the lack of guards, the shut and locked gatehouse, the silent streets beyond. People, in his experience, didn’t usually agree on things that fast. “How long?” he asked.

The innkeeper shrugged. “A few weeks,” she replied. “It started off with just a few, but it’s been happening to more and more people. A few have died, so. People are starting to get scared.”

“Is it really wise to gather like this?” Sasha asked. “If it is a sickness?”

“I don’t think it is one,” the woman said flatly. “At least not a normal one. People don’t pass it to each other, they just go out in the dark and don’t come back, until someone goes looking and finds them tucked away somewhere, collapsed or unconscious.” She kept her voice low. “It’s happened less since people stopped going out at night and started keeping the lights on. Since there’s no way to figure out what’s causing this without going out and looking for it… well. We’re hoping it keeps whatever this is under control. The Margrave’s sent for help in Emon, but who knows how long that’ll take?”

Another customer called her away after that, leaving the three of them to bring their things up to their room for the night. As promised, it had two beds. Without a word, Sasha and Tim moved to take one.

“Are you sure?” Martin asked. “I can always—”

“What, sleep on the floor of the room you’re paying for?” Sasha asked. “It’s fine.”

“We’ll behave ourselves,” Tim said dryly, and accepted Sasha’s elbow to the ribs. “Now, as tired as I am, I’m also hungry, and I’d love to wash out the taste of trail dust. So.” He motioned to the door. “Shall we?”

It was even harder to find an empty table than it had been to find an inn with a vacancy. When they finally managed to sit down with food in front of them, they were sharing space with strangers. Tim rubbed elbows with Martin on one side and a bearded human on the other. Across from them, Sasha managed to squeeze in when a grizzled halfling woman moved over for her.

“Thanks,” she said, and the halfing grunted over her stew.

Martin eyed him hesitantly for a moment, gathering his nerve. “Um, excuse me,” he said politely, and the halfling reluctantly glanced up. “Sorry, we’re not from here—”

“I can tell,” the halfing replied dryly.

“Right, yeah. I was just—I’m curious about this curse.” Martin fiddled nervously with his fork. “Would you mind telling me about it?”

When the woman hesitated, considering it, Tim decided to chip in. He wasn’t sure where Martin was going with this, but it couldn’t hurt. “You might as well tell him,” he said. “He’s a cleric, you know. Specializes in knowing things. He might know something about this.”

After a moment, the halfling nodded. “What do you want to know?”

“The innkeeper described it as a sickness,” said Martin. “So, what sort of symptoms are there?”

“Nothing fancy,” the halfling replied. “Just weakness, really.”

“Weakness.”

“Yeah. Happened to my sister. She took the dog out one night, and stayed out there long enough for me to worry.” The halfling’s expression darkened. “When I found her, she was barely awake. I almost had to carry her back inside. She was pale, almost gray—gods, she looked like a corpse. Weak as a new kitten, too.”

“And everyone affected has been like that?” Martin asked, voice gentle.

“More or less. The ones that survive, anyway.” Her mouth tightened. “Some people have gone out at night and don’t get found until morning. Dead, without a mark on ‘em. Just pale and stiff. It ain’t _natural_.”

“That sounds horrible,” said Sasha. “Is anything being done about it?”

“The Margrave’s doing his best,” the halfling said with a shrug. “Set a curfew, keeps the lanterns lit, sent word to Emon.”

The man sitting next to Tim scoffed. “There’s not much he _can_ do. The most trouble we usually see is drunk and rowdy gamblers, not this.”

“At least we’re seeing less of the drunk and rowdy gamblers,” the halfling snorted.

“Yeah, and now we’re getting out-of-towners asking about the creepy nighttime curse instead. You win some, you lose some.”

“You get a lot of nosy questions, I take it,” Tim remarked.

“We had somebody harassing Stephanie yesterday,” the halfling said, pulling a face. “Remember him?”

Her tablemate scowled. “No. When was this? Is Steph alright?”

“I told you about this yesterday, remember?” the halfling said. “Scrawny half-elf, dark hair, weird-looking scars, creepy stare? He wouldn’t stop asking her about her wife, and then he flat-out vanished. Nobody’s seen him since.”

“Huh. Good riddance.”

Martin, frowning, leaned forward. “Sorry, did you say—”

The door to the inn burst open and slammed shut in quick succesion. Tim’s hand was already at the handle of his knife as he turned to find one of the stablehands slumped against the door, breathing heavily.

Only one of the stablehands.

“Andy?” the innkeeper called over. “What’s going on? Where’s your brother?”

Andy looked fearfully to one of the windows. “I-I don’t know, I thought—” He swallowed hard. “I thought he was with me. I thought he was right behind me.”

“What do you mean he…” The innkeeper’s voice trailed off.

Frightened tears were already springing to the stablehand’s eyes. “We—we were putting the horses away. And the shadows—they moved. I saw them move, I swear.”

Martin was already up and out of his seat. “Show me.”

Andy gaped at him, round-eyed with fear. “W-what?”

“Yeah, Martin,” said Sasha, though she was also rising from her seat. “What?”

Martin turned around and met her eyes squarely, before shifting his attention to Tim. “I think we should probably check on the horses,” he said carefully. “Don’t you?”

Bewildered, Tim looked to Sasha. She looked uneasy, even as she jerked her head in the direction Martin was taking.

“He’s paying,” she reminded him.

“ _Fuck_ , he’s paying,” Tim muttered as he rose from his seat and followed.

* * *

It was only with all three of them coming along that Andy the stablehand agreed to go back out to the stables. Even then, Tim noticed that he kept as close to the center of the group as he could. This left Martin in the lead, which was less than ideal since Martin barely knew where the door to the stables was.

It was fully dark out. The streets were lit with lamps and magic, casting long shadows into the streets. Tim kept an eye on them, but the only movement he saw was that of their own shadows as they made their way into the inn’s adjoining stables.

Their horses were stabled already, but their tack was left strewn across the ground. In the midst of the mess, slumped against the door to one of the stalls, was the other stablehand. With a cry, Andy broke away from the group and ran to his side, muttering frantic assurances as his brother crumpled against him. Martin reached them next, one hand on his chest and clutching a glowing point beneath his clothes. His hand glowed with the same soft greenish light as he put his hand to the man’s shoulder. The other stablehand stirred, then jolted awake and flinched back with a strangled cry. Martin pulled his hand back and stepped away, murmuring an apology, but the younger man was too busy quietly panicking to listen.

Sasha kept close to Tim’s side at first, turning so that they had an eye on each other’s blind spots. The path between the stalls was illuminated by dim but steady light from three wall sconces, but there were plenty of shadows to go around, and the stalls themselves were dark.

“See anything?” Sasha asked quietly.

“The lamps don’t flicker,” Tim replied.

“What?”

“The lamps don’t flicker,” he repeated, keeping his voice low so that the stablehands wouldn’t hear. “There’s no way they would’ve caused the shadows to move.”

“Our shadows move when we do,” she pointed out. “They could’ve scared themselves. Not like it’s hard, with the whole town hiding when the sun goes down.”

“Nice theory,” Martin remarked as he joined them. “It’d make a lot of sense if our friend there wasn’t—how’d that halfling put it? Weak as a new kitten.”

“You’re sure?” Sasha asked. “He wasn’t just fainting out of stress, or—?”

“Stress doesn’t cause necrosis,” Martin said flatly. “Also, we should probably help.”

He was right. Between one stablehand trembling with fright and the other with exhaustion, it took all three of them to clear away the mess. The horses were already rubbed down and fed; all that was left was wiping down and hanging up their tack.

“Think we’re safe?” Tim asked, when he and Martin were both out of earshot of the shaken stablehands.

“Not really,” Martin replied. “But as long as we all stay in the light, we should be—we won’t be caught by surprise.”

“Caught by surprise?” Tim echoed. “By what?”

On the far end of the stable, where Sasha was hanging up her saddle, the lamp sputtered and went dark. She froze, one hand straying to the handle of her rapier. Then, without warning, she swayed, staggered, and nearly fell to her knees before catching herself against the wall.

Martin charged forward, axe drawn. His lips were moving, whispering a spell that Tim couldn’t hear. Bright, almost blinding light burst from the axe in his hand, scattering the darkness around Sasha and the burnt-out lamp.

A single shadow remained, as if in defiance of Martin’s spell. It hovered in the middle of the floor, ghostlike, though it had no clear form or face, and Tim could only barely see through it. Tim saw Sasha recoil from the sudden brightness, straight into its hazy, outstretched hands.

“Sasha, behind you!”

She was clearly weakened, but her reflexes had always been good. Sasha turned, and in a single fluid motion she drew her rapier and stabbed at it. The blade went through it with no resistance, and the living shadow barely faltered.

Tim overtook Martin, drawing his own sword. As he stepped into the light cast from Martin’s axe, he couldn’t help but flinch. It made him feel the way the open plains did—exposed, unprotected, longing for the comforting safety of cover and darkness. Gritting his teeth, he shook the feeling off and lashed out with his short sword. It felt like slashing through mist; the blade passed through something, but the darkness slid seamlessly back into place.

It reached for Sasha again. The rapier slipped from her hand and clattered to the ground. Tim barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground, too. Grayish-black bruises bloomed on her skin, spreading like thin ink. Tim pulled her back, and the shadow followed, eager and hungry.

“ _No_ ,” Martin spat out. His voice punched through the air like a physical weight. “ _You can’t have her._ ”

The light blazed brighter. The shadow recoiled as it burst into flames, form twisting in pain as the fire ripped it apart.

And then the stables were still and silent again, apart from the quick, frightened breaths of the stablehands behind them.

Slowly, Martin reached up and cast another light spell to the burned-out lamp. “We should go,” he said shakily. “There’ll be more of them nearby.”

The stablehands stayed close to them, never leaving the circle of light from Martin’s axe. Tim let Sasha use him for a crutch as they went; a healing spell from Martin took away the bruising where the shadow had touched her, but she still leaned heavily on him and trembled from the effort of walking.

All eyes were on them when they returned to the inn. The innkeeper was there to meet them, eyes roving over them all with unease and concern.

“We were attacked,” Andy blurted out. “By—I don’t even know what it was. It was like the darkness was walking.” His wide eyes turned to Martin. “I saw him, though. Don’t know what he did, but he destroyed it with one spell.”

“I’d say it was a group effort,” Tim broke in. Because really, he and Sasha had managed a couple hits on it before Martin burned the thing.

Though he couldn’t argue with the results.

Martin fidgeted as all the attention turned to him. “It’s not a sickness or a curse,” he said, voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. “They’re called shadows. They’re a type of undead, sort of a ghost the feeds on strength and vitality. They’re not exactly—I mean, you can sleep off the effects and be fine, but they kill by draining their victims completely. A-and they’re weak to holy spells. So if you can get ahold of any clerics, or paladins, that sort of thing…” His voice trailed off.

The innkeeper moved first, ushering her stablehands into chairs before going back behind the counter. Taking up the money box, she removed their payment and placed it on the counter. “That’s a night and a meal on the house,” she said shortly.

“You really don’t—” Martin began.

“You three protected my employees,” she snapped. “And that’s something we can tell the Margrave in the morning. You’ve paid for your night.”

“Thank you,” Martin said meekly.

At Tim’s side, Sasha stirred. “So I can sleep this off?” she asked, words slurring together.

“It’d be best if you did,” Martin replied.

Her head sagged with relief. “Right… wait, we still haven’t eaten.”

The innkeeper’s weathered face softened. “Your food’ll be cold by now. I can have a tray sent up to your room.”

The three of them escaped upstairs before any of the inn’s other customers could stop and question them. Once the door was shut behind them, Tim deposited Sasha gently on a bed. He only meant to put her down for a moment, but almost immediately she rolled over and went to sleep with her shoes still on. Tim tugged them off himself, and she never even stirred. Just to be safe, he felt her pulse.

“She’ll be alright,” Martin assured him.

“You’re sure about that?”

Martin nodded. “Shadows consume life force and drain your physical strength. They can only kill by draining you completely. She’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”

“…Right.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin went on, hands twisting together. “I should’ve been faster, I didn’t mean for either of you to be in danger—”

“It’s—Martin, it’s _fine_ ,” Tim cut him off. “We knew it might be dangerous. That’s why you hired us, isn’t it?”

“For bandits and highwaymen, not the undead!”

Tim shrugged. “Things happen. We survived. You said yourself she’ll be okay.”

Martin shrank into himself, unconvinced.

“There was one other thing you said, though,” Tim went on. “Back in the stable?” Martin frowned, clearly struggling to remember. “I’m not sure ‘said’ is the word, actually… I mean, I don’t know much about magic, but it sort of looked like you were saying it to cast a spell. If that’s even how it works.”

“Spells can have verbal components, yeah,” Martin said carefully.

“Anyway, you said ‘you can’t have her’,” Tim went on. “To the—the shadow. I didn’t think much of it at first, I figured it was just something you said to warn it off killing her. But was there more to it than that?”

Martin’s face turned grim. “I didn’t mention this downstairs,” he said. “Maybe I should’ve, but it felt like a big risk. Especially with all those frightened people, all clustered in one place. But killing is how shadows spread. If someone dies from being drained, a new shadow will rise from the corpse within an hour.”

Tim frowned. “You’re right,” he said reproachfully. “You should have mentioned it to them.”

“I didn’t want to spread paranoia on top of the fear that’s already there.” Martin shrugged helplessly. “There’s no way to prevent a new shadow rising. And they’re not very strong, but they’re hard to fight. The only thing that really harms them is radiance. As long as word gets to the Margrave about what they’re dealing with, they can send for help. But, honestly?” He glanced to the lamp, still burning brightly. “As far as I can tell, they’re as safe as they can be. Keeping lights on, staying together, staying inside at night… and now they know that holy magic works against them. At least that’s information they can actually use.”

There was a knock at the door. Tim answered it and found the innkeeper bearing the promised dinner tray.

“Your friend will be all right?” she asked as she carried the food to the table inside.

“She will,” Martin assured her with a smile. “Sleep’s the best cure for a shadow attack.”

“Good. And thank you.” The innkeeper looked both of them in the eye in turn. “Will you be staying long?”

“Just passing through,” Martin replied, a little guiltily.

“Hm. Well, all the same. You’ve been a great help.” She inclined her head to them. “Good night to you both.” With that, she was gone.

Tim looked over the tray. Three bowls of stew, fresh hunks of bread, sweet rolls, grilled vegetables. His stomach took that moment to remind him of how empty it was. With a sigh, he passed a bowl to Martin and picked up his own. Sasha would appreciate a roll in the morning.

“Still have to wonder why,” he mused. “I mean, it can’t be every day a bunch of life-draining ghosts show up and take over the place.” He looked to Martin, who was frowning over his bowl. “Can it?”

“Not that I know of,” Martin said. “It’s weird, for sure.”

They left the lamp burning when they went to bed. It was only one of the reasons that Tim took so long to fall asleep.

* * *

Sasha slept well into the morning.

When she woke, her eyelids stuck together and her neck was horrendously stiff, but she felt as if she’d been unconscious for a week. If she’d dreamed anything, she couldn’t remember it.

Most importantly, she was ravenously hungry. It couldn’t even be the comfortable itch that she usually felt between a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast. No, this was the sort of hunger that made her curl up with a quiet groan, and wonder how she was supposed to make herself eat when the hunger itself was making her nauseous.

“Sasha?” Footsteps, heavy but cautious, approached her bedside. “Are you awake?”

With some effort, Sasha poked her head out from under the covers, wriggling to free her horns from the bedsheets. She squinted, vision slowly focusing until the sight of Martin came together before her. “Please tell me you’ve got an anti-nausea spell somewhere in there.” Her voice cracked horribly.

“Afraid not.” Martin set something down on the bedside table. “Brought tea, though. The innkeeper let me borrow the kettle. Should wake you up and settle your stomach.”

“Ohh, wonderful.” Sasha sat up with a groan and rubbed her eyes until she was sure she could see straight. Then, once she trusted her hands not to tremble, she took the offered cup and sipped at it carefully. Martin’s hands hovered nearby, ready to help steady hers if need be.

True to his word, the tea soothed her stomach, and after a few more sips she found it easier to keep her eyes open. It wasn’t exactly the way she liked her tea, but it did the job. Besides, with her stomach this tender, a spoonful of honey probably wasn’t the best idea.

Sasha let out a sigh of relief. “It’s good,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Least I could do. I can’t imagine it’s fun, having the life and strength pulled from you like that.”

Memories of the previous night returned, for better or worse. Sasha grimaced and pushed them back. “How late is it?” she asked. “You could’ve woken me.”

“It’s really best that I didn’t,” Martin replied, sitting down beside her. “That thing got at least two hits on you.”

“Two hits _of_ me, more like.”

“Right, yeah. The point is, it took a lot out of you. You needed the rest.”

“Well, at least it’s simple,” Sasha remarked. “And I slept like the dead, pun intended.”

“You really did,” Martin agreed. “I had to reassure Tim at least a dozen times that you’d actually wake up this morning.”

“Ah, he worries. Where is Tim, by the way?”

“Ordering breakfast for you,” Martin replied. “There’s some bread and a sweet roll left over from last night, if you’d rather sit a while longer.”

“Nah.” Sasha struggled up. “I’m starving and I need—well.” She looked down at herself, realizing that she’d fallen asleep the moment she’d touched the bed. “First I need a wash and a change.”

Martin gave her one of his lopsided grins. “I’ll go wait downstairs for you, then. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks, Martin.”

Ten minutes later, clean and in fresh clothes, Sasha swept downstairs to find Tim and Martin waiting for her at their table from last night, examining a map between them. With sunlight streaming in through the windows, the inn was much less crowded and the general mood was a great deal lighter.

Tim clapped her on the back as she sat down. “How do you feel?”

“Ask me again in about five minutes,” she said, and immediately tucked in. After the first bite, what little was left of her nausea vanished.

“So, now that we’re all here,” said Tim. “The next major city on the way to Emon is the Emerald Outpost, and it’ll take the better part of a week to get there. Martin says there’ll be little villages to stop at that aren’t marked, though, so we’re probably good on supplies for now.”

“So we’re all set to leave?” Sasha asked.

“Probably, yeah.”

Sasha paused. “And there’s… y’know, nothing more we can do to help here?”

Tim made a face. “I know the feeling, Sasha, I really do. But I don’t think we’re really equipped to deal with a ghost infestation. Unless you’ve got some holy magic somewhere in there?”

“Nope,” Sasha sighed. “I can do magic missiles no problem, though.”

“That would work,” Martin said thoughtfully. “Not as well as a holy spell, but…” His voice trailed off, and he continued frowning at the opposite wall.

“Everything alright there, boss?” Tim asked.

It took some time for the question to register. “Fine,” Martin said after a long pause. “Just thinking. Got something stuck in my head, probably nothing, but—”

“Um. E-excuse me?”

Sasha turned, mouth too full to speak clearly. There was a woman standing near their table, hands twisting in the hem of her cloak. When Sasha caught her eye, she stared back with a steadiness that Sasha could tell was forced.

“Good morning?” said Tim. “Can we help you?”

“I’m not sure,” the woman replied. “Maybe. I-I hope so. I’m sorry, my name’s Stephanie, I’m—my wife and I run the map shop in town? And I heard that, that you fought one of those things last night. One of the shadows.”

Sasha swallowed her mouthful. “Word travels fast.”

“It’s all anyone’s been talking about.” Stephanie’s eyes flickered downward, then back up again.

Martin sat up straighter, and the thoughtful haze cleared from his face. “Sorry, would you like to sit down?” he asked, gesturing to one of their table’s empty chairs.

“Thank you.” She sat, though she remained stiff and upright. “I’m sorry to bother you, I know you all must be busy. But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Kymal has guards and a Margrave for a reason, doesn’t it?” Tim pointed out.

“They’re too busy with the curse—sorry, the shadows,” Stephanie replied. “And even if the Margrave sends out word, it might be too late. I can’t afford to wait any longer.”

The three of them exchanged glances. “So, wait,” said Tim. “This doesn’t have to do with the shadows?”

“It—I don’t know. Maybe it does. I’m just not sure anymore.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning,” Sasha suggested.

Stephanie nodded and took a deep breath. “My wife is a cartographer,” she said. “She travels a lot. Likes to keep her maps up to date. A little over a year ago there was an earthquake in the area, centered around the Ironseat Ridge, so, she’s been wanting to survey it, see if the landscape had changed. She didn’t get around to it until a week ago. My brother went with her—he usually helps her with these things.” She paused. “We have sending stones—Erin always checks in every day when she’s away. But I haven’t heard from them in almost three days.”

Tim leaned forward. “You said they were headed for the Ironseat Ridge.”

“They got there,” Stephanie replied. “The last I heard from them, they found an open mine shaft by one of the old mining camps around the ridge.” Her knuckles were white. “I don’t know if these shadows are connected. But I’m afraid they might be.”

“Um, Stephanie?” said Martin. “Odd question, but, has anyone else asked you about this?”

Her face froze. “Yes. Just yesterday. A half-elf I didn’t know. Nobody seemed to know him.”

“Could you tell me what he looked like?” Martin asked.

“I don’t know how much I can tell you,” she admitted. “It’s not like I was trying to memorize his face. He had this way of staring—not in an untoward way or anything, he just… stared. Like I was some puzzle he was trying to solve. I didn’t like it, so I did my best not to look at him.”

Martin nodded, frowning.

“So… can you help?”

“Yes,” Martin replied, shocking both Tim and Sasha. “I can’t promise I’ll find anything, but if the guards in town are busy then I can at least have a look around the ridge.”

“That would be enough.” Stephanie’s eyes widened in gratitude. “That would be _more_ than enough, thank you—”

“I can get to the ridge and back in a day,” Martin told her. “Where can I find you later?”

“Our shop’s just west off the market street,” Stephanie told him. “Ask anyone and they can point the way for you.”

“Alright.” Martin nodded decisively. “Hopefully I’ll have news for you by tonight. But for now… try not to worry? This doesn’t have to mean trouble. They could’ve lost their sending stone and decided not to return without finishing up.”

Stephanie’s answering smile was bleak. “I hope so,” she murmured, without much hope.

Once she was gone, Tim leaned forward on the table. “You’re sure about this?” he asked. “Because it sounds like an awfully big risk to me.”

“I can go alone,” Martin said with a shrug. “I was going to suggest it, actually. You two could take a day, and I can ride out to the ridge—”

“Martin, no,” Sasha said firmly. “In case you forgot, you hired us to keep you _out_ of danger.”

Martin scowled, almost petulantly. “Well you certainly can’t keep me from going.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Sasha sighed. This wasn’t really what she would have wanted, but… well, they did technically work for him. Couldn’t be helped. “But either way, you’re not going out there alone.”

“Remember that we sort of need you to get us to Vasselheim,” Tim said dryly.

That deflated him immediately. “Oh, right.” Martin hesitated, looking embarrassed. “Then, I guess—I mean, we could always just…”

_…_ _not do it,_ he didn’t say. That felt important, somehow. He didn’t say it out loud. When Sasha met his eyes expectantly, all she found in them was quiet defiance.

Sasha swallowed the urge to sigh. “You’re clearly set on this,” she said. “Okay. As far as we know, Kymal’s the only place with a shadow problem. If we do this, then we’d be setting out in broad daylight, and on horseback we can make a whole round trip within a day. It doesn’t _seem_ like too much of a risk, and if that changes then we can change our minds later.”

“We still don’t know how far these shadows have spread,” Tim reminded her. “For all we know they could be infesting the whole area, not just Kymal.”

“Not likely,” said Martin, without meeting their eyes. “All the food’s _here_.”

That somber note sunk them into silence for a while. Burying her discomfort, Sasha took the opportunity to hurry through her breakfast. If they were making a day trip, then the quicker they set out, the better.

“So, that half-elf she mentioned,” Tim spoke up. “Is that someone you know?”

He threw it out so casually, and Sasha was sure he only said it to fill the silence. But Martin froze at the question, looking for all the world like a deer staring down the shaft of an arrow.

“M-maybe?” he squeaked out. “I’m actually—honestly, probably not. But at the same time, ‘thin half-elf who asks too many questions’ sounds like someone I know, and—and charging off after someone who might need help is definitely something he’d do.” His eyebrows drew together. “But I don’t know why he’d be here.”

“Is this one of your friends who ran off to Vasselheim?” Sasha asked.

Martin seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, before he finally nodded. “Yeah. H-haven’t seen him in ages, and it’s a long shot, but…”

“But there’s still a chance someone you know is here and in trouble,” Tim finished for him. “Even if it’s a small chance.” He was staring down at his plate as he spoke, so he missed the odd look Martin gave him.

“Right,” Martin said hesitantly. “Exactly.”

“Well then.” Sasha pushed her empty plate away. “If we want to get back before dark, then we’d better get a move on.” Martin popped out of his seat like a cork in water, and she reached out to press him back down into it. “Hold it. First, I need you to listen to me for a second.”

“Y-yes?”

“You were very brave last night,” she said. “But also really, really lucky that we happened to be up against something weak to your spells. You get that, right?”

Martin’s face did a complicated little maneuver before settling on sullen embarrassment.

“I’m serious,” Sasha pressed. “Just because you have a sort of… elemental advantage, doesn’t mean you can afford to get cocky. We were up against one shadow last night. We don’t know what’s waiting for us at that mine.”

“Could be nothing,” Tim remarked, shrugging when she glared.

“Could be nothing,” she conceded. “Or it could be a swarm of those things. The point is, we all need to be cautious.” She caught Martin’s eye and held it steadily. “You especially. Got it?”

“Right. Yeah.”

Sasha nodded. “Alright then. Let’s go track down the mapmaker.”


	4. Chapter 4

Tim was in his element.

Once they left the flatlands behind and headed into the rockier Ironseat range, he felt something settle within him, as firm and unwavering as the mountains they rode among. He might not know Ironseat itself, but he knew this kind of terrain.

They were making good time. The old mining roads were long abandoned and overgrown, but once Tim managed to find the skeletal paths left behind, the way ahead was clear. The central ridge loomed large before them, drawing closer with every minute.

“Are you sure you haven’t been this way before?” Martin asked. “You said you’ve only been out as far as Kymal, but…”

“This place is tame compared to the Stormcrest Mountains,” Tim answered. “Hasn’t been too many years since people used these roads regularly, so they’re pretty easy to follow.” Leaning down in the saddle, he snagged a broken branch and indicated all the disturbed undergrowth in the path ahead. “Helps that people have been through here recently.”

“If you say so,” Martin said uncertainly.

When his head was turned, Sasha took the opportunity to roll her eyes at Tim. Glaring at her without much heat behind it, Tim guided his horse closer to her.

“You’re being rude again, Sasha,” he murmured, dropping his voice so that Martin couldn’t hear.

She looked away, embarrassed. “I know, I know, just… he wanted to come out here _alone_. Can you imagine?”

“Yes, yes.”

“I mean—look. Credit where credit’s due. We’ve been in two fights so far and he’s held his own. Saved my life last night, even.” She fidgeted in her saddle. “But he’s still a wide-eyed city boy on his first trip away from home, you know?”

“We don’t know that, exactly.”

“I’d bet money on it.”

“Mm.” Tim pursed his lips. “Guess we’re sort of out here on a whim, aren’t we.”

“Maybe. There _are_ people in danger.”

“Yeah, but Martin only wants to look for them on the off chance that—” Sasha elbowed him sharply, and he glanced over to find Martin watching them worriedly.

“Is… something wrong?” he asked. “Thought I heard my name.”

Tim tugged his reins again to bring their horses closer. “Just wondering about this friend of yours, I guess,” he answered. “Any idea why he’d be here instead of Vasselheim?”

While Martin took time considering his answer, Tim turned his attention back to the road ahead. At some point the roots of a tree had grown into the road, forcing them to steer around it. The path beyond was even less clear, as the ground turned to bare, cracked rock in nearly every direction.

“It’s like I said,” Martin replied at last. “It’s probably not him at all. But if it _was_ , I’d say it’s because—well, this whole shadow thing is a bit of a mystery, you know? He likes mysteries. A little too much, to be honest. Gets him in trouble.”

“I know the feeling,” Sasha said, in a voice as dry as the stones around them.

Abruptly Martin drew back on his reins, forcing his horse to stop. “Should we go back?”

Tim halted as well. “Martin—”

“No, you—” Martin bit his lip. “I need a straight answer. If—if you think this is a terrible idea, if it’s really not worth doing, then—”

“Martin, it’s really not—” Sasha tried.

“—instead of just whispering about it behind my back, just _tell me_ ,” Martin went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “I _know_ I can’t do this, a-any of this, by myself. I know that. That’s why you’re here. So tell me if this is more than you’re willing to put up with, so we can address it _now_. The last thing I want is you two biting your tongues just so you can resent me for it later.”

Tim’s eyes flicked to Sasha first. She looked at least as embarrassed as he felt.

“Well?” Martin pressed.

“It feels hasty,” Sasha finally answered. “But… I guess I’m not really one to judge, when it comes to making hasty decisions.”

“I do think it’s worth it,” Tim added. “Between the people we know are in danger, and the possibility that one of them might be your friend.”

His instincts insisted it was high risk for no reward. _I wouldn’t hesitate for Danny,_ he thought, and they quieted.

Martin, at least, looked somewhat mollified. “You’re sure about that?”

“Can we really be sure of anything?” Sasha asked.

“Guess not,” Martin muttered.

He looked ahead, and Tim followed his gaze. They were nearly to the ridge, and with it the old mining camps.

“Could you do the thing you did before?” Tim asked. “Roll the dice, see what comes of this?”

Martin pursed his lips thoughtfully and nodded. “Let’s find that camp first.”

The path turned dusty, which was a blessing for Tim. Dust meant tracks to follow. Dust meant prints left by two sets of hooves and one set of boots, leading him directly to the mining camp that Stephanie had told them about.

He spotted the horses first. A pair of them were tied to old hitching posts in the camp. Saddles, packs, and tack had been hastily removed and dumped on the ground nearby. The ropes tying them to the posts were long enough to let them reach the shade, and the scrubby grass that grew from the hard-packed earth, and the single water trough.

Sasha eyed the trough suspiciously. “That… can’t be good for them, can it? How long has the water been sitting there?”

Tim had already dismounted and was inspecting it. There was no sign of the usual scum and detritus that gathered in standing water over long periods. “Not long. I’m willing to bet this was filled pretty recently. Probably from that creek we passed on the way in. I can still hear it.” He passed his reins up to her.

She took them. “Still.”

Martin dismounted, reached in, and dipped his finger into it. The water rippled, and in an instant it was impossibly clear—so clear that Tim couldn’t even see his reflection in it anymore. He looked away, vaguely unsettled.

“There,” Martin said simply, shaking his hand dry. “Now it’s good enough for anyone to drink out of.”

Sasha looked incredulous. “Martin, did you just bless the horse water?”

“Wh—no! I purified it, that’s all. You seemed worried.”

Tim drifted onward, picking up the trail again beyond where the horses were left. The footprints were faded, the dust smoothed by the wind, but they were there, leading around the ridge. He rounded a corner and came to a halt, straightening up in a single motion as his eyes were drawn from the ground to the slanting wall of stone before him.

“Guys?” he called back. “I think I found it.”

They caught up with him, both on foot—they must have tied the horses up with the others. Martin lagged behind, digging into his pouch, so Sasha was the first to catch up and see what Tim was looking at. “What—oh. Yeah. Think you did.”

The open mine shaft yawned before them. Sunlight reached a few paces inside before the darkness swallowed it—Tim could make out the faint outlines of stone walls and broken-down, skeletal mining carts, and no more than that.

The footprints led inside. Two sets, old and faded. One more, no more than a day old.

Without a word, Martin knelt and cast his handful of dice. Apprehension crawled up Tim’s spine as he watched them roll over and over again, until every single one came to rest in the dust.

Four sixes.

“That’s… good, right?” Sasha asked.

Martin retrieved his dice and slipped them back into his pouch. “All weal, no woe,” he said. “I’d say that’s good.” Reaching down again, he picked up a fist-sized rock and hefted it in his hands. At his touch, the rock began to glow brightly enough to cut through the darkness within the tunnel. Without a word he passed it to Tim, then found another stone and did the same.

“Need one, Sasha?” he asked.

“I think I’m good.” She tapped the side of her face. “Can’t go wrong with these eyes.”

Martin took a deep, steadying breath. His shoulders squared. “Right, then. Let’s see what this tunnel has for us.”

* * *

They moved single-file through the tunnel. It wasn’t so narrow as to be claustrophobic—all three of them could have walked side by side quite comfortably—but it made the most sense for Tim to take point and Sasha to watch their backs.

The glowing stones lit the way well enough, but before long Martin whistled up a pair of floating lights as well. One of them hovered at Tim’s shoulder, the other at Sasha’s. Between the two spells, the path ahead was well lit. Even as they dodged around the rubble and ruins of abandoned mining operations, none of them ever stepped into the darkness.

When they hit their first fork in the road, Tim held up a hand for them to stop. Then, after inspecting both paths thoroughly, he drew his dagger and slashed an arrow into the wall before moving on into the path to the left.

“This way.”

“You’re sure?” Sasha murmured. She kept her voice low, but it still echoed faintly.

“There’s no wind down here disturbing the tracks,” he replied. “Plenty of patches of dirt to catch all the boot prints.” Tim continued to lead the way, one hand holding his light aloft, the other resting comfortably on the handle of his dagger.

“How long have the Ironseat mines been abandoned?” Sasha murmured.

“Dunno,” said Tim. “Years, from the looks of this place.”

“Seventeen years,” Martin said. “There was a quake in the area, and it damaged the support beams in the deeper tunnels. Made them unsafe.”

Sasha almost stumbled over a scrap of fallen timber. “Wait, are _we_ safe?”

“Should be,” Martin replied, way too nonchalantly for what he’d just announced. “The active mining was deeper than this, and those were the areas that were dangerous. Apparently it caused a lot of strife between the workers and the owners, and they spent so much time just shoring up the tunnels that money dried up, and the operation just sort of ended.”

Tim glanced back. “How do you know all this?”

To Sasha’s surprise, as well as some amusement, Martin flushed visibly. “It’s local history,” he mumbled, a bit defensively. “It’s an interesting subject.”

“Of course it is,” Sasha said, beaming at him.

“Heads up,” Tim warned, and the tunnel opened up to a wider chamber.

While the trek through the tunnels had been broken up by the odd fallen tool or wagon, the chamber was so filled with rubble that parts of it were blocked from view. Piles of dirt made up the most of it, most likely dragged from deeper within as tunnels were excavated. A few broken-down wheelbarrows were left upturned among them as well. Most importantly, in Sasha’s opinion, none of the wreckage included pieces of the support beams.

Up ahead, three tunnel openings stood wide like open mouths in the chamber wall.

“Tim?” said Sasha. “Can you tell us which way they went?”

Tim frowned down at the ground, sweeping this way and that with his light. “It’s hard to say,” he said. “The tracks aren’t as clear.”

“Guess there _is_ more trash on the floor,” Martin remarked.

“Not just that. The tracks themselves are different…” Tim’s voice trailed off. He ventured further in, only to stop when Martin and Sasha followed. “You two, stay back. I’ve got to pick up the trail again, and I’m not gonna be able to with you two adding in new footprints.”

“I don’t think separating is a good idea,” Martin fretted.

“Relax, will you? It’s not like I’m sending you back outside. Just—stand by the wall and don’t hover over me, alright?”

Reluctantly, Martin complied. Sasha went to stand with him as Tim resumed his inspection of the chamber and tunnels.

“So,” Sasha murmured. If she pitched her voice just right, she could keep it from echoing and reaching Tim.

“Yes?” Martin sounded weary.

“Just wondering,” said Sasha. “If all these missing people are here. Which, if Tim’s right—and he probably is—they probably are. Obviously there’s a reason they’re still here, something’s keeping them here, they’re trapped or wounded or—or dead, hopefully not. Do I have that about right?”

“Sounds about right.”

“So, what’s gonna stop us from joining them?” Sasha asked.

“Hopefully,” Martin replied, “the fact that we’re not one mapmaker and her brother-in-law.”

“Alright, fair enough,” Sasha conceded.

“Hey Sash,” Tim called over. “What do you make of this?”

The object sailed through the air toward her, and Sasha caught it one handed and turned it over in her palm. It was smooth and looked hand-carved, and aside from the thin dusting of grime, looked fairly new.

“I think I know what that is,” Martin said grimly. “But I could check and make sure.”

“No need,” Sasha sighed. “I can do it myself, and you’re the healer, remember. Save your spells.”

Within moments of casting, the stone in her hand lit up, and her awareness along with it. Martin’s lights—both the glowing stones and the Dancing Lights floating in the air—jumped out at her, as well as a few other points on him. Starbursts of divine energy emanated from the holy symbol tucked under his scarf and a few items in his bag, probably the dice he used for Augury. Another, smaller point of transmutation magic originated somewhere in his bag. The pyrotechnic wand in her own possession was pure evocation, and Tim’s warding amulet against Charm spells shone out to her from across the room.

But the center of her attention was the stone in her hand, and the transmutation and evocation magic infused into it.

“That’s a sending stone, alright,” she said. “Tim, where’d you—?” She paused, frowning as she looked around. “Tim, where are you?”

“Over here,” he called back, and she spotted him waving from near the rightmost tunnel mouth. “This place is a wreck. Dirt’s kicked up and some of the damage on this wood looks fresh.”

It was getting harder to see him. Why was it getting harder to see him?

Sasha looked to Martin, and to the light-infused stone he still held.

“How long have we been down here?” she asked.

“About an hour,” Martin replied.

“And how long does that Light spell last?”

“About an—ah.” Martin tapped his finger to the stone, and it lit up again. “Hey, Tim?”

“Yeah?”

Renewed light spread through the chamber, just as the stone in Tim’s hand went dark. The light barely reached him, but it was enough, just barely enough to illuminate the shadow hovering behind him, reaching for him.

Tim met her eyes, saw the look on her face, and paled.

“Behind you!” Martin yelled, but Tim was already whirling around, lashing out with the knife in his hand. The blade hit the shadow—Sasha could swear that it hit—but the creature barely wavered before it lunged like a striking snake.

Her skin crawled with phantom chills. She remembered how its touch felt, like water so cold it burned, slipping beneath her skin and filling her veins. Tim’s dead-white face brought her hand up, blazing with magic.

Three glowing darts sailed from her fingertips and struck the shadow, lighting it up like fireworks. For a moment Sasha thought her spell had torn it apart with pure force, before the darkness coalesced into a solid shape again. Holy fire overtook it before it could strike again.

Martin’s hand was on Sasha’s arm in an instant, drawing her along as he closed the distance between them and Tim. Once they had reached his side, he renewed the Light spell with a touch, and the three of them stood with their backs to one another.

The glow took up nearly half the chamber and crept down the nearest tunnel mouth as well. As Sasha watched, she began to make out movement at the very edge. The darkness was drifting in, smokelike, as the shadows watched them from just outside their circle of light.

Sasha groped to the side until she found Tim’s chilled hand, gripping it until the warmth began to return. “You alright?” she asked.

“That… did not feel too good,” Tim replied, slightly winded. “Nope. Didn’t like that one bit.” He squeezed her hand back. “But—now we know there are shadows here. Which—honestly? Not surprised.”

Shadows drifted closer, no longer hidden but still unharmed by the light that the stones gave off. Martin sent another plume of holy fire at one, scattering them again.

“We—” He hesitated, gnawing at his lip as he watched the shadows that stalked them. “We could—we can go back.” He bit the words out like it hurt him to say them. “We have the sending stone, and that’s—it’s not great, but it’s something we can give Stephanie when we get back to Kymal.” He sent out another plume of fire, scattering the shadows again. “The light won’t keep them back for long. Eventually they’ll get bolder. There’s something else I can do to keep them away more permanently, but I can only do it once, so… we can go back.”

“That’d be the smart thing,” Tim murmured, though he didn’t sound nearly as relieved about it as he could have.

He sounded no more enthused about the idea than Sasha felt, in fact.

“Wait.” Gods, why was she doing this? This wasn’t smart, not even remotely. “Wait, but—we could go further.”

Why wasn’t Tim arguing with her? Tim was supposed to be the sensible one. But now he was just looking at her, while Martin kept an eye on the shadows.

“It’s just—the Augury spell, remember?” Sasha waved at Martin. “It said good things if we went into the mine, didn’t it? I don’t think walking for an hour before getting chased out by shadows counts as good, do you?”

The chamber was silent for a moment, except for the indistinct whisper of shadows.

“You’re sure?” Martin asked, but his eyes were bright and eager.

“Tim?” Sasha turned to him. “Do you know which way they went?”

He nodded once. “Tunnel to the left. We’re all sure about this?”

Sasha’s fingertips burned, already primed with another volley of magic missiles. “I vote yes. There’s got to be something else here.”

They stepped into the tunnel together, and Sasha felt the temperature in the air _drop_.

Shadows danced and thrashed against the wall as the creatures plunged forward into the light. Sasha let loose the spell, and was rewarded when the missiles punched holes in at least two of the attacking shadows. But still they came closer—Sasha counted four, maybe five venturing into the light. One of them lit up with holy fire and vanished, but they did not stop.

“Still going forward?” Tim gritted out.

Sasha hesitated, teeth grinding together. It wasn’t too late. This was stupid. There was nothing to be gained here—

From deep within the tunnel, as if in answer to her thoughts, came the echo of a distant scream.

Three pairs of eyes met. The answer was clear.

“In for a copper,” said Sasha.

Tim’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “Run, but stay together.”

Sasha latched on to the Tim’s sleeve, and together the three of them took off into the waiting darkness.

* * *

As ideas went, he’d definitely had better ones.

He’d had a lot worse, of course, but that didn’t mean much when he was still stuck in the dark while this swarm of half-living shadows took free sips of his life force.

The lamp in the mapmaker’s hand was flickering low, casting wild, thrashing shapes against the walls of the chamber. Their attackers wheeled closer and recoiled whenever he managed to get a strike in, adding to the visual chaos. At times he could barely tell the difference between the shadows on the wall and the ones off it.

(But always, in the end, his vision cleared and he struck true.)

Behind him, the mapmaker held on to him and quietly sobbed. And—honestly, good. If she was crying then she wasn’t dead, and if she wasn’t dead then there was a chance that this all wasn’t for nothing.

A small chance. Still good to keep it mind with the way the shadows swarmed them like vultures, like they knew it wouldn’t be long before they finally dropped.

The hand gripping his sword was starting to tremble. He was frigid from the shadows’ touch, limbs stiff and sluggish, like there was thick mud where his blood should have been. Every part of him sagged heavy with exhaustion—every part but the eyelids, actually. His eyes stayed clear, even after hours of this.

_Guess I should be grateful you’re giving me that,_ he thought, with no small amount of bitterness.

As if in response, a stab of alien fear sent him whirling around, letting momentum bring his sword around in a chopping arc. The blade blazed with eerie light, carving through the attacking shadow like solid meat. The shadow vanished.

Probably wasn’t smart. He only had a few of those in him at a time.

Still, his patron’s intervention had bought him a few more moments of breathing room. He made a break for the other side of the chamber, half-stumbling over the broken remains of a cart. The mapmaker’s fingers dug painfully into his arm as she hung on and kept pace with him, half-blind in the fading light.

Another shadow lunged in. He swung and missed, and it struck the woman like a snake. She staggered against him, and the lantern slipped from her fingers and shattered on the ground, snuffing out the last of the light.

His eyes adjusted to the pitch-darkness. The mapmaker’s did not. When she screamed, he flinched. It was costly; another shadow struck, and she slumped against him so suddenly and heavily that, for a split second, he thought that was it. But no—the shadows weren’t much louder than a breeze, so he could still hear her shallow breathing. Her strength was sapped, and she was too exhausted to cry anymore, but she was alive.

They were halfway to the mouth of the tunnel, and it may as well have been miles. He slung his free arm over her shoulders, tucking her close before the nearest shadows could make a move for the weaker prey. One of them loomed in front of them, blocking the way out. He swung again, lighting up the chamber in sickly shades as his magic tore the shadow apart.

Ice flooded his veins again. He stumbled, the hilt slipped from his stiff, icy hand—

The chamber lit up.

Harsh, green-tinged illumination threw the attacking shadows into stark relief. There was another that he hadn’t seen, just behind him to his left, and he didn’t have time to grab for his sword so he simply threw himself between it and the woman at his side.

A bolt of light shot toward him from the tunnel, and he ground his teeth against the terror of an oncoming spell. But it hurtled past him, blazing with flamelike radiance, and ripped through the shadow before it could touch him.

He blinked, bleary-eyed and shocked, and followed the still-glowing trail back to the man who had cast it. Piece by piece he took him in.

A cleric, his weary mind supplied. Tall, broad, heavyset, and dressed simply in a gray coat and a dark green scarf. black hair, olive skin, and dark, angry eyes. A book tucked in his hand, a holy symbol blazing beneath his throat.

He wasn’t alone. There were two others with him—another human with a longbow string drawn to his ear, and a tall tiefling woman with skin the color of burnished copper and curved, backswept horns.

As they approached, the cleric’s eyes fell on him, first wide and curious, then subdued. Disappointed, perhaps? That figured. People were never very happy to see him.

Either way, that was healing magic flickering at the cleric’s fingertips. Without hesitating, he pushed the mapmaker toward him. “Help her first, she’s worse off than me—” The cleric complied, and relief filled him when the unhealthy gray tinge began to fade from her skin.

Another attack from one of the shadows behind him nearly drove him to his knees, but the cleric caught him before he hit the ground. The ice in his veins thawed, healing magic burning away the necrosis. He still felt weak and sluggish, but at least it hurt less.

“There’s so many of them,” he heard the tiefling grit out. “Please tell me you can do something about them, Martin.”

The cleric didn’t let go of him, probably not trusting him to stay on his feet, which—honestly, couldn’t blame him. The cleric did, however, shift his grip on the book in his hand.

After a moment’s hesitation, the cleric spoke.

“Did you know they’re from the Shadowfell?”

There was an odd, heavy timbre to his voice. It seemed to reach every corner of the chamber, as if the shadows surrounding them were the sort of creatures that cared about what you had to say. Still, it was the kind of voice your really listened to, no matter who or where or how you were.

So he did.

“That’s a plane, you know—it mirrors the material plane, like the Feywild does. But, while the Feywild’s a place bursting with life and wild arcane magic, the Shadowfell’s all death and decay and darkness. It’s like a distorted echo, a dark reflection of the world as we know it, full of mountains and forests and cities that are familiar, but warped. Wrong. It’s said the Raven Queen has a stronghold there…”

It went on that way, nothing he didn’t already know, but still he listened, and that was when he realized what he was hearing.

It was a _prayer_.

No sooner did he realize it, than the light blazed, and razor winds whipped out from the point where the cleric stood. They passed harmlessly through the tiefling and the human, through the mapmaker, and even through him. The shadows caught the brunt of it, and as he watched through drooping eyelids, every single one of them was flung back and away from them.

Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. But it was the normal kind of darkness. The shadows were fleeing.

In the silence that followed, he could breathe again.

* * *

The half-elf was leaning on Martin so heavily that Tim wasn’t sure whether he was still conscious. The woman wasn’t much better off, though she’d at least stopped trembling now that the shadows were gone.

If they really were.

“Is… is that it?” he asked, eyeing their surroundings warily. “Did you get rid of them?”

“For now,” Martin replied. “I chased them off, but it won’t last forever.”

“Right.” Tim relaxed by increments. The half-elf shifted, drawing his attention again, and he nodded to him. “What about him, then? Do you know him?”

Martin’s face twisted up in mingled disappointment and embarrassment. “No,” he said.

“Ah, well. Can’t argue with the results.” No wonder the dice had told them good things—if they hadn’t come down here, these two would be dead for sure. “Anyway, we’d better—Sasha?”

“Just having a look around,” she called over her shoulder.

“Sasha, did you not hear him?”

“I’ll be quick!” She shot a glare at him before continuing her inspection of the chamber. “In fact, it’ll be quicker if you help me.”

“Do we have time?” Tim asked, directing the question toward Martin.

He hesitated before answering, “We’ve got time for a short rest. Just a short one. But it should be enough to shake off the effects of the draining.”

“Good,” Tim said firmly. “Right. Let’s find a place to sit then, miss.”

The woman shifted against him. “Okay. S-sorry… who’re you?”

“Name’s Tim,” he replied. “Are you—hang on, let’s just… set you down right here.” Gingerly he helped her sit down against an upturned wheelbarrow, then crouched beside her. “Right. Are you Erin?”

Her eyes came into focus on his face.. “Yes. How…?”

“We ran into your wife back in town,” he replied. “She asked us to come looking for you. So—here we are.”

She stirred, waking up further. “Stephanie? Is Stephanie alright?”

“She was fine when we left,” Tim assured her. “She told us you and her brother were here…?”

Erin’s face was bleak.

“…Ah.”

“He’s… back there, we had to…” Erin cast a tired look back at the tunnels that led out of the chamber, further deep into the mines. “Do you think we could…?”

“ _Shit_.” The half-elf straightened up, stepping away from Martin.

“H-hang on, maybe you should sit down—”

“No.” The half-elf retrieved his dropped weapon, a longsword with a twisted wirework hilt. “The body’s just in the tunnel here.”

Martin chased after him. “Okay, yeah, great, we can retrieve it, just—you look like you’re about to fall over, so just _wait up_ , will you—”

Tim watched them go. “Interesting guy.”

“I don’t…” Erin frowned. Already she was beginning to look a little less wiped out. “I’ve never met him before.”

“Seems to be the standard with him, so far.”

“He saved my life,” she said simply.

Light flared from the tunnel where Martin had vanished with the strange half-elf. By now, Tim was familiar with the glow of Martin’s magic. It was an odd light, close to fire but not quite right. He rose up, one hand on his sword, as the two of them returned. Between them, they carried the body of a man.

“Everything alright?” Tim asked carefully. Beside him, Erin broke down into silent tears.

“Yeah,” Martin answered. “Just—yeah. It’s all fine.”

“Shadow rose up from the body,” the half-elf said shortly, ignoring Martin’s disapproving look. “Dealt with it.” Without another word, he seated himself on the ground and let his head hang low.

Weird-looking guy, in Tim’s opinion. He was almost as tall as Martin, but with a leanness that brushed up against scrawny. His eyes were sharp and brown, so pale they were almost amber. Everything about him was scruffy and battered, from his tangled dark hair to his clothes to the scar tissue that crept up from beneath his collar. Even his pointed ears sported nicks and scars. The marks on his hands were too dark to be scars—tattoos, maybe?

“Is anyone else hurt?” Martin asked, drawing him out of his thoughts.

Tim glanced around, then shook his head. “Better save your spells.”

“Tim,” Sasha called over. “Come look at this.”

“Alright?” Tim asked Erin. She nodded wordlessly, and he rose to join Sasha near the center of the chamber. Martin followed just a beat behind him. “What is it?”

Sasha waved her hand at the floor. “I think it speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

At some point in the fairly recent past, the center of the room had been cleared of rubble. The purpose was clear enough: etched into the floor was a circle, about twenty paces in diameter, filled with sigils and scribblings that Tim couldn’t make heads or tails of. At the very center of it sat a perfectly round, smooth black stone, just small enough to fit in someone’s hand.

“Well,” he said. “That looks important. Couldn’t tell you what it means, though. Is it anything you recognize?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“That’s a summoning circle, I think,” said Martin. “Not something you really see in a mine.” His face was unusually grim as he scored the toe of his boot through a few lines. “I’m betting we’ve found the source of these shadows.”

“Not bad.”

Tim jumped. He hadn’t heard the half-elf approach. But there he was, standing with them and staring down at the circle with a scowl. Before he could reply, the half-elf wandered to one part of the circle and scuffed through one of the symbols.

“That’s the sigil for the Shadowfell,” he said. “Which, if you’ll recall from your cleric friend’s prayer, is where shadows come from.”

“Prayer?” Sasha echoed, with a baffled look at Martin. “That was a prayer?”

“Well… yeah, sort of.” Martin looked embarrassed. “It’s just, I’ve never been all that religious—”

“You’re a _cleric_.”

“—but it, it works, alright? Spouting off knowledge that I’ve learned…” Martin cast a pleading look in Tim’s direction. “Look, it makes sense and it works.”

“It kind of does,” Tim pointed out. “Ioun’s a knowledge goddess, after all. And it did very much work.”

“Guess so,” Sasha conceded. “Guess I was expecting something more along the lines of _lord and/or lady_ _bless this axe, so that I may lop off some bastard’s head in thy mercy_ —”

“Sasha, come on,” said Tim, nudging her lightly. “Martin, what about that stone in the center?”

“Er…” Martin approached it, staying cautiously out of arm’s reach of it. “Hard to say. Some kind of focus? I don’t think summoning circles really need focuses like this, though.”

“They don’t, usually,” the half-elf spoke up again. “Not for a job like this.”

Martin looked up at his approach, frowning in confusion. “What do you mean?”

The half-elf crossed his arms. “Best I can tell, both from the circle and the day I’ve been having, all this thing does is summon shadows into the material plane. It’s sloppy work. Doesn’t call for enough power or precision to need something like a focus.”

“What do you think it is, then?” Sasha asked.

“Oh, I dunno.” The half-elf shrugged. “I’d find out, but I’m tapped out of magic at the moment.”

“Oh! I can do that.” Sasha snapped her fingers. Light flickered in her eyes for a moment as she squinted at the orb, then at something in her hand, then the orb again. “Hm. Divination magic, looks like.”

Martin had his handaxe drawn. “Could be a scrying tool…”

It was a stroke of luck. Tim was only looking at the orb because Martin was about to poke it with the head of his axe. Right at that moment, something flickered in the depths of the orb. Tim stepped forward, mystified, as it settled into an image—light, and a pale eye blinking open from within the smooth dark stone.

Martin yelped in alarm and brought the axe down on the orb, smashing it.

Tim jumped, Sasha sprang back, and even the half-elf flinched.

“Martin!” Sasha hissed.

“Sorry! Sorry.” Martin’s knuckles were white as he gripped the axe handle. “Startled me.”

Sasha nudged one of the fragments with her toe. “Well, whatever magic was in it before, it’s gone now. Thanks, Martin.”

“Someone was watching us!”

“We could’ve found out more!”

“I think I’m with Martin on this,” said Tim, shrugging off Sasha’s glare. “Look, whoever left the circle clearly isn’t our friend, and I don’t think I want them watching us, whoever they are.”

“I guess that’s true,” Sasha grumbled. “Still, that was reckless.”

“Sorry.”

“Well I thought it was great,” the half-elf offered, kicking a shard of stone. “Obliterated that thing in one hit. Very nice.”

“Thank… you?”

“Did you find anything else?” Tim asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Sasha held up another stone, this one smaller and palm-sized, smooth and carved with simple-looking runes. “Found this just lying around. I thought it was a regular rock at first, but… I mean, just look at it. There’s no way a rock ends up like that naturally. Too clean, too. This isn’t yours, is it?” She held it out to the half-elf.

He reached out and took it, and Tim got a better look at the marks on his hands. They were black, stylized eyes—a tiny one on each knuckle, and a larger more intricate design on the back of his hand. “Not mine,” he said, turning it over and inspecting it. “Don’t know exactly what spell these runes are for, but based on complexity… something cantrip-level. This isn’t heavy-duty spellwork.”

“Wait, let me see,” Martin spoke up, reaching into his pouch. As the half-elf passed it to him, he drew out another stone, slightly smaller. As he held the two of them side by side, even Tim could see that the runes matched.

Martin returned his own stone to his bag. “That’s a Message stone,” he said.

“Is that like a sending stone?” Sasha asked. “For communication?”

“No. It’s a bit of a misnomer, actually.” Martin turned it over in his hands. “It holds a modified version of a Message spell—instead of sending it to someone, it retains it. Here, I’ll show you.”

He swiped his thumb over, and it glowed. Moments later, The sound of wind, running footsteps, and distant sobbing emanated from the stone. Quickly, Martin swiped it again, silencing it.

“So it captures sound, then?” Tim asked, breaking the uneasy hush that followed.

“…More or less.” Martin passed it back to Sasha. “I saw those all the time at the Alabaster Lyceum. Students use them to record lectures.”

“Huh.” Sasha pocketed it. “Interesting. Wait, you’ve been to the Alabaster Lyceum?”

Martin flushed. “Just for a couple years. I-I didn’t finish…”

“No, I just mean… that’s all the way in Emon.”

“Yes?”

Sasha opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Oh,” she said at last. “Well, anyway, that’s all I could find in here.”

“Great,” said Tim. “Let’s leave, then. Unless anyone else has any last-minute errands they’d like to run?”

“Don’t know about all of you, but I’ve had my fill of this place,” the half-elf said flatly. “So if we’re done here?”

Martin hesitated as he turned away. “Think we’ve scratched out enough of the circle to make it useless?”

In the midst of turning, the half-elf slipped a wand from his belt, pointed it at the circle, and fired off a shot. A controlled explosion of fire tore into the ground before dissipating, leaving nothing but a pit of scorch marks behind.

“Have now. Shall we?”

After a brief rest, Erin’s condition had improved. She was still pale, but the gray tinge was gone from her skin. When the half-elf offered her a hand, she took it and let him help her to her feet.

“Can you please—” She cast an agonized look at the dead man lying nearby. “We can’t leave Luke. Please?”

“We won’t,” he replied.

Tim was already kneeling by the body. “I’ve got him,” he said. Luke wasn’t a heavy man, thank the gods.

“Are you sure?” Martin offered.

Tim shook his head. “You’re more use than I am, if those things come back.”

With Martin lighting the way and Sasha’s sharp eyes watching the rear, they left the darkening chamber behind.

* * *

The return to Kymal was a bittersweet one. Evening was approaching when they rode in, and there were few people still lingering on the streets. Erin led them straight to her home, where Stephanie was waiting for them anxiously. The relief in her eyes when she saw that her wife was alive was just as palpable as the glassy pain when she saw that her brother was not.

Sasha turned her eyes away when the tears started, grinding her teeth. Erin hadn’t said much about what she went through, but she couldn’t help but feel that maybe, if they’d been just a bit faster…

She carried that thought with her all the way back to the inn, and the only empty table left in the dining area. It wasn’t until food arrived that the churning in her stomach finally let up.

They’d saved one person. That was one more than would have been saved if they hadn’t acted at all. No wait, make that two, counting the half-elf.

Speaking of whom…

Sasha watched, her cider cup halfway to her lips, as that very half-elf held a hushed conversation with their innkeeper. Whatever they were talking about, it didn’t look pleasant.

“So… what now?” Tim asked quietly.

“I think we move on, first thing tomorrow,” Martin replied. “We filled in Erin and Stephanie on what happened, and they’ll probably tell the Margrave in the morning. I mean, much as I’d like to stick around and help more… there really isn’t much more we can do.”

The half-elf had abandoned whatever he was discussing with the innkeeper. Now, frustrated and resigned, he was headed for the door. Right out into the streets that, most likely, would be full of lurking shadows soon.

Pointing, she whispered a Message to him. “ _You might as well come over here._ _We’ve got room at the table._ ”

She saw one of his pointed ears twitched, and he turned and found her watching him from across the room. After a moment’s hesitation, looking over his shoulder like there was anyone else she could possibly be talking to, he slunk over to their table and slid into an empty seat.

“Oh, hey again,” Tim greeted him.

“Evening.” The half-elf shot a wary glance at all three of them in turn.

“Were you having a tiff with the innkeeper?” Sasha asked. “Looked serious, whatever it was.”

The half-elf met her eyes coolly. “I was staying here, the night before last. Apparently someone took the room I was in, so I was about to go out and try my luck elsewhere.”

“…Ah.” Tim winced.

“Matter of fact,” he went on, “I’m on a bit of a time limit, finding somewhere else to stay. Places don’t stay open after dark, around here.”

“We’ve got room, if you need,” Martin offered, even though with three of them already squashed into the same room, they really didn’t. “Well. We could figure it out.”

“Thanks,” he said hesitantly. “You’re sure about that?”

Tim leaned his chin on one hand. “Well, we already went to the trouble of dragging you out of a mess of shadows,” he pointed out. “It’d be a bit of a waste to toss you back to them after all that.”

“Right.” The half-elf looked a bit dubious, but he wasn’t getting up to leave.

“So what’s your name, then?” Sasha asked. “I’m Sasha, this is my very good friend Tim, and that’s our… er…” She squinted at him. “Employer? Is that what we’re calling you?”

“If you like?”

“Martin,” Tim broke in. “That’s Martin.”

The half-elf blinked slowly as he took each of them in, as if carefully measuring them against some metric that Sasha didn’t know. “Gerard,” he said carefully. “You three aren’t from Kymal, then?”

“That obvious?” said Tim. “Yeah. Just came in from Westruun, actually. Sasha and I were between jobs, so we took up a bit of mercenary work. At the moment, we’re accompanying Martin.”

“Sorry—” Martin broke in. “Gerard, are you hungry? Feel free to order something, it’s all on me.”

That did the trick. Either clerics were naturally trustworthy or Gerard was just that hungry. He seemed to relax at the offer—slowly, in little steps—and took Martin up on it readily enough.

Tim, who wasn’t born yesterday, waited until their new friend had food in front of him before asking, “So, Gerard. What’s your story?”

“A long one,” Gerard said flatly.

Sasha’s eyes lit up. Dodging questions only made her itch even more for the answers. “If I’m understanding things right,” she said. “You ran into that mine by yourself and found those two, and then you kept that woman alive until help arrived. So you’re clearly not bad in a fight.”

“I’ve got a talent for staying alive.”

“I figured as much. What sort of fighter are you? You’ve got to be a spellcaster of some kind, to make it that long.”

Gerard hesitated, weighing his options. Then, with all the cautiousness of a man putting a toe on a freshly-frozen pond, he answered, “I’m a warlock.”

Even more interesting. It certainly explained the caginess.

“That’s a risky life,” Martin said.

Gerard stabbed at his plate with a fork. “Can’t complain. I knew what I was getting myself into, more or less. And, much as I hate to admit it, I’d have died months ago if it weren’t for the Ceaseless Watcher.”

“Ceaseless Watcher?” Sasha echoed, before Martin could reply. “I take it that’s what the eyes are about.”

“Pretty much. I dunno. Felt right, at the time. So where are you three headed?”

That, in Sasha’s opinion, was a pretty transparent subject change, but she let him have it. “We’re on the way to—Vasselheim…” She shot a look of confusion at Martin, who hadn’t quite muffled a noise of protest. “Something wrong?” He pursed his lips and didn’t answer.

Gerard, on the other hand, was looking at her intently. “Vasselheim? The ancient city in Issylra?”

“That’s the one,” Tim replied. “Martin’s on his way there, and we’re tagging along to keep him in one piece.”

Something new flickered to life in Gerard’s eyes. Interest. Eagerness. A bit of hope, maybe? “Got room for one more in your little party?”

Tim’s eyebrows rose. “Wait, really?”

“You’re sure about that?” Martin asked coolly. “It’s a holy city. Warlocks might not get the warmest reception.”

“Sounds more like a me problem than a you problem,” Gerard said with a shrug. “Look, it’s just a question. If you want me gone, say so. But, as your tiefling friend put together, I’m not bad to have in a fight. So…”

Tim snapped his fingers. “Hey! This could be the weal!” Both Martin and Sasha turned to stare at him. “You remember, the Augury spell? It did say good things would happen if we went into that tunnel. Maybe Gerard here is one of them.”

“I thought finding Erin was the weal,” said Sasha. “Which, I still say it’s a weird word to use—”

“Yeah, of course.” Tim waved her off, and she stuck out her tongue at him. “Martin, as the more-or-less leader of this little expedition, what do you say?”

Martin hesitated far too long for comfort. He was eyeing Gerard with something like discomfort, verging on distrust. Sasha didn’t think that was quite fair, but then, he _was_ a cleric. Maybe holy warriors that drew their power from the divine had _opinions_ about pacts and warlocks.

“Fine,” he said at last. “Guess it can’t hurt.”

It was the faintest praise Sasha could imagine, and she had to wonder if Gerard heard the reluctance in Martin’s voice. He didn’t say anything, though, so she wasn’t about to bring it up.

Beyond the walls of the inn, the last of the light slipped behind the horizon. Within it, the lights stayed on all through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! The nosy scarred half-elf was Gerry all along!
> 
> "Haha, that was so cool. and very gay." "Did Martin just use Turn Undead by infodumping?" -the discord server after I posted screen caps of Gerry seeing Martin do That.


	5. Chapter 5

The first new problem was solved almost as swiftly as it appeared. With four of them but only three horses, Sasha simply shared a mount with Tim and left the third free for Gerard.

Gerard put up a fight about it, but it was mostly for appearances’ sake. There was no other ready solution that didn’t involve acquiring another horse, and Gerard wasn’t about to put that on Martin, especially after the previous night.

No one had exactly _insisted_ that he take one of the two available beds, of course. But Tim and Sasha had cuddled up in one while Martin had set himself in a chair and refused to leave it for the rest of the night, without a word spoken about it to one another, much less to Gerard. The demand had been pretty clear.

So, by the time the horse issue came up, Gerard knew better than to argue about it.

Well, except—

“You can leave your things on it,” he said, when Sasha began to mess with saddlebags. “I don’t carry much, so there’s room.” She hesitated, and he added, “Better if you don’t put too much weight on one horse, too.”

“Good point.” A moment later there was a fine-taloned finger in his face, and Sasha’s toothy smile was only a little bit joking. “Touch my stuff and I’ll lop your hands off.”

“Noted.”

People in Kymal rose with the sun these days, so their departure from the city had witnesses. Suspicious eyes raked over Gerard as they passed. Word must have got around that he was bothering the mapmaker’s wife.

“He with you?” one of the gate guards asked, directing the question at Martin.

When Martin shot a look in his direction, Gerard ducked down to focus on untwisting the reins in his hands. “Is there a problem if he is?” Martin asked carefully. Probing for information. _Should I be worried? Is that one a danger?_

“He was causing trouble, a couple of days ago,” the guard replied. “Harassing some people in town. If he’s with you—”

“Hey, he wasn’t—” Tim began.

“He wasn’t with us until yesterday,” Martin broke in. “But he is now, and we’re leaving. If that’s all right?”

The guard studied him, then Gerard, before finally shrugging and leaning back on his pike. “Fine by me, he’s your problem now.”

And that was that.

He might have to be careful about that sort of thing for the rest of the journey. Being an inconvenience was a good way to get tossed out, and if Martin was the one in charge of this trip, then he was already on shaky ground.

Gerard wasn’t stupid. He knew perfectly well when he wasn’t wanted.

But, in spite of the cleric’s obvious reservations, he hadn’t been chased off yet. And as long as he wasn’t dead weight or an active nuisance, that might even continue.

* * *

Sasha looked up at the sound of firewood hitting the ground.

It was a little alarming, she reflected, that she hadn’t realized Gerard had left until seeing him return. He hadn’t been gone long, only twenty minutes at most. Martin wasn’t even done tending to the horses yet.

But here he was, returning with an armload of kindling and, more surprisingly, a pair of dead rabbits. They’d be gamy this time of year, but fresh meat was nothing to sniff at.

Tracking their supplies had ended up her job, as it usually had when she and Tim were on their own. They’d restocked before leaving Kymal, and by her judgment their food would last them a week on its own. On their current course, they wouldn’t see another major city until the Emerald Outpost on the other side of the plains. Foraging and hunting meant stretching their supplies further, in case they couldn’t buy more from villages and settlements they passed along the way.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Tim spoke up, reaching for the firewood. “It’s usually me that has to do this.”

“It’s damp,” Gerard grunted, setting the rabbits down.

Without looking up from her inventory, Sasha snapped her fingers and was rewarded with the faint smell of ozone. She waited another minute as Tim arranged the now-dry wood in their makeshift fire pit. When he stepped back, a second snap of Sasha’s fingers lit the wood.

“Right,” Gerard muttered.

“Doesn’t cost me a thing,” Sasha said primly. “Thanks for the rabbits.”

“You’re welcome. I basically tripped over the things anyway.”

Between the fresh meat and the still-plentiful supplies, Tim managed to throw together a decent stew. As night fell, the four of them sat around the crackling fire and ate their fill as it burned low.

The last bit of sunlight slipped behind the horizon when Gerard shifted. He sat up straighter, head high and alert, one hand on the longsword he kept within easy reach.

Martin noticed as well. “What is it?”

“Not sure.” Gerard’s eyes narrowed. “But there’s something out there.”

“Just me again, I’m afraid.”

Gerard half-drew his weapon, steel rasping sharply in the scabbard. Tim bit back a curse as he nearly knocked the pot into the fire. In a purely reflexive move, Sasha had one of her knives out.

Calmly, as if nothing had happened, Blake swept his cloak back and sat down among them. When his steady gaze passed over her, Sasha couldn’t help but notice that his eyes did not reflect the fire.

“Sorry to intrude again,” he said.

The four of them exchanged glances. Tim looked stunned. Gerard was silently looking to them as if for some sort of cue. Martin had his axe resting against his lap in a nonchalant threat.

Of them, Tim was the first to find his voice. “Uh. Stew?”

“If you can spare it.”

Uneasy silence held as Blake accepted a bowl, as calm and nonchalant as if numb to the tension his own presence caused. Gerard was still watching the rest of them in helpless confusion.

Eventually, Blake set the empty bowl aside. “My compliments to the cook.”

“Thanks,” said Tim, with a brief reflexive grin. “So…”

“Did you want something?” Martin broke in coolly.

Blake’s dark eyes took each of them in with polite curiosity. “I couldn’t pass up the chance at good company. Or good food.”

The unimpressed expression on Martin’s face might have been funny if Sasha hadn’t been feeling the exact same way.

“And,” Blake went on, “I couldn’t help but notice the, ah, commotion in the area. Imagine my surprise when I found the three of you—” he paused again, with another glance at Gerard “—sorry, four of you—right in the middle of it. Hello, by the way. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Gerard had gone from looking to the others for cues to staring at Blake like he expected him to sprout fangs and strike. “We haven’t,” he said carefully.

“Interesting.” Something flickered across Blake’s face, too quick for Sasha to catch.

“What’s interesting?” she asked boldly. “The fact that you’re meeting someone for the first time? How boring is your life?” Martin shot her a warning glare, which she pretended not to see.

But Blake simply laughed quietly. “That’s fair. In any case, after everything that happened to you, I thought you might be invested in the outcome of your visit to Kymal.”

Martin tensed. “What does that mean? And how do you know what happened to us in Kymal?”

“It was the talk of the town,” Blake replied, raising an eyebrow at him. “As it should be, what with the dramatic rescue and all. In any case, an infestation of undead spirits—especially one this severe and purposeful—happens to fall within my lady’s purview.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sasha saw Gerard shift slightly, tightening his grip on his sword.

“So, it might comfort you to know that the situation in Kymal has been brought to our attention,” Blake finished. “It’s being dealt with as we speak.”

“Well… that’s good,” Tim replied. “Thanks? For telling us?”

Blake smiled at him. “You’re welcome.”

“Why?” Martin asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“You said it yourself.” Martin’s tone was barely within the bounds of politeness. “You work for the Raven Queen, and dealing with undead like those shadows is what she does. What you do. So why are you here, when you _should_ be busy doing that?”

Blake held his gaze for a moment, long enough for Sasha to wonder if there was meaning behind it that she wasn’t seeing. Godly pissing contests, maybe? Did Ioun not get along with the Raven Queen, maybe?

_Or,_ her more sensible side pointed out, _he’s suspicious about the mysterious man with the fake name who’s barged into our camp again._

Finally, Blake looked away. “You’re right, I’m needed elsewhere,” he said simply. “Consider this a courtesy. As thanks, for your hospitality.” His eyes slid toward Gerard again, who resumed fidgeting with his sword handle.

“I mean,” Tim spoke up. “That’s—it’s good news, I guess. That Kymal’s going to be alright.” He paused, head tilting to the side until Blake was looking at him again. “Thank you for that. Is there anything else you want from us?”

Blake shook his head. “No. By all means, continue as you are.”

With an unhurried air, Blake got to his feet. Gerard moved to match him, as did Martin and Tim, and Sasha followed suit to keep from being the only one sitting.

“I’m going now,” said Blake. “Like I said… lots of things.”

“Well then.” Tim crossed his arms, calm as anything. “Thanks for the visit, Antonio. It was good to see you again.”

Blake’s unwavering calm broke for a moment. “I—what did you just call me?”

Tim squinted at him. “…No? Not it? Damn. Could swear you look like an Antonio. Tell you what, I’ll keep guessing.”

A smile stole across Blake’s face, amused and faintly baffled. “You… do that. And thanks again for the soup.”

“Goodbye,” Martin said coldly, and the strange man barely batted an eye.

“One more thing,” he called back as he passed out of the glow of firelight. “Be careful, as you move onward. The road you’re on comes pretty close to the Verdant Expanse. There’s been talk of fey in the woods.”

In an instant, Tim was all sharp angles and tension. “What?”

“Good night.”

“Wait—what _kind_ of fey—?”

Blake was gone, swallowed up in the spreading dark. Tim’s mouth snapped tightly shut.

For a while, only the quiet crackle of the campfire filled the silence.

“Friend of yours?” Gerard asked finally.

“We met him at the Silvercut Crossroads,” Sasha explained. “He wasn’t much more forthcoming then, either.” A thought occurred to her, obvious in hindsight, and she looked to the others. “Think he’s following us?”

“He could be following the road,” Tim said uncertainly. “Martin? You’re the religion guy. Is it a good or a bad sign when a servant of the Raven Queen takes an interest in you?”

Martin spent a moment frowning in the direction Blake had taken, as if he could dispel the darkness by glaring at it. “Should be fine as long as we don’t do any necromancy,” he said at last.

Gerard barked out a quiet laugh. “You’re sure about that?”

Martin turned his frown on him. “You tell me. If you’re hiding a reliquary or a pair of fangs somewhere, now’s the time to speak up.”

Immediately Gerard bridled, and Tim quickly stepped between them. “Okay, nobody’s going to point any fingers on this, alright? Martin, come on.”

“I was just—”

“I know what you were just,” Tim cut him off. “And we really, _really_ don’t need that right now, alright? It’s _fine_. He came in, had some stew, gave us some good news and some bad news, and he left. That’s it.”

Martin pulled a sour face. “If you think that’s the end of it—”

“No, Martin, I don’t think it’s the end of it,” Tim informed him. “Obviously we’ll be seeing him again. Maybe we’ll find out more when we do. Maybe we’ll find out more before that. But until we do, there’s no point in picking fights about it. Cool _down_ , will you?”

Martin stayed tense for another breath before conceding with a tired sigh. “Right, right, yeah. Sorry.”

Taking pity on him, Sasha reached over to give his shoulder a comforting pat. “It’s been a weird few days,” she said. “Want me to take first watch?”

“No, it’s fine,” he assured her. “I think I’d feel better staying up for a bit.”

“Alright, if you’re sure. Oh, and remember to wake me up earlier than usual.” Sasha flashed a grin at Gerard. “Four people means shorter watch shifts.”

“Right, yeah, I’ll remember.”

Gerard sat up for a while, after Martin had taken up his post by the fire and Sasha and Tim had bedded down for the night. Curious, Sasha raised herself up on one elbow for a better look at him, and caught sight of something glinting in his hands.

“What’s that?”

He looked over at her in surprise, and after a moment showed her a short bit of wire with a tiny bell threaded onto it. As Sasha watched, faint sparks raced along the wire and between his fingers before taking to the air and scattering beyond the bounds of their campsite.

“Alarm spell,” he said. “Just in case.”

“Not bad,” Sasha remarked. “We take turns keeping watch for a reason, though.”

Gerard shrugged. “People miss things. The spell doesn’t.”

Something loosened in her chest, a small scrap of relief against a tension she’d barely noticed was there. Like doing up a latch on a window, or hearing the clean, heavy click of deadbolt.

“Good to have a failsafe,” she murmured, half to herself.

Gerard nodded once, and his spell slipped into place like the snap of a lock.

* * *

Mysteriousness aside, Blake had been right about one thing: the road they were on dipped far enough south to approach the very edge of the Verdant Expanse.

The Dividing Plains were largely flat, but occasionally the road would crest a gentle hill just high enough to give them a proper view of the edge of the vast, tangled forest. This far north, the forest was hemmed in by mountain ranges: to the west, the Daggerbay range in the direction they were heading; to the east, the sprawling Stormcrest mountains.

For Sasha, it was a cheerful sight.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it,” she said once when they stopped to rest the horses. “Seeing Stormcrest again?”

“S’pose it does,” Tim murmured.

Gerard shot them a curious look, but said nothing. It was Martin who asked, “You mentioned being from Stilben?” he asked. “That’s not in the mountains, is it?”

Tim snorted. “Gods, no. It’s way to the east. Coastal town—and not the fun kind. It’s mostly swampland there.”

“Wet and smelly,” Sasha chimed in. “Unless you’re from there, I guess.”

“Nope, I’m from there and it’s wet and smelly,” said Tim, still staring out at the mountains. “Not the nicest place to grow up, either. Used to study any maps we could get our hands on, deciding where we’d head if we ever got out of Stilben.”

“And you went to Stormcrest?” said Martin.

“First stop, yeah. Loads to see in the mountains.”

Gerard was still staring out at the landscape where the plains met the woods, apparently tuning the rest of them out. That wouldn’t do at all.

“See anything interesting?” Sasha asked, hoping he’d take the invitation for what it was.

After a moment, he let himself be drawn into the conversation. “Just looking at the line between the plains and the forest,” he said. “Then plains and mountains. Keep going and you’ll hit the Frostweald—now _there’s_ an interesting place. It’s got everything—perpetual winter, basilisks, a portal to the Feywild—”

The line of Tim’s shoulders went taut.

“Speaking of interesting places,” Sasha broke in, keeping her tone carefully light. “Gerard, where’d _you_ come from?”

“Oh, me?” Gerard was doing that thing again—that shifting thing where he changed his stance to take up less space.

“Yeah,” Martin said, before Sasha had the chance. “I don’t think you’ve said, have you.”

Sasha glared at the side of Martin’s head. Why did he have to make a simple question sound so judgmental?

It wasn’t lost on Gerard, either, which didn’t help. “I’ve been on the move for a while,” he answered warily. “Not really ‘from’ anywhere anymore.”

A non-answer. What a cheater. “You had to have been born somewhere. Unless you popped out _on_ the road.”

Gerard pulled a wry face. “Syngorn, I guess. I haven’t been back much—like I said, I travel.”

At that, Tim’s eyebrows shot upward. Martin’s didn’t, which could only mean he didn’t know what that might mean.

“Syngorn’s the oldest and most revered elven city in Tal’Dorei,” she said, for Martin’s benefit. “Big, shining city deep in the Verdant Expanse.”

Martin nodded, frowning thoughtfully as he, most likely, came to the same point she had. Gerard, gods bless him, looked like he’d wandered out of a cave in the wilderness, not an emerald citadel.

But she didn’t say that out loud, of course, because she’d been raised to have manners. What she did say was, “How does a half-elf even _happen_ in Syngorn? I didn’t think those fancy elf types mingled with humans.”

“ _Sasha_.” Tim elbowed her.

Gerard simply snorted quietly, apparently unbothered. “Yeah, well, my dad made some shit choices in his time.”

“How’d the warlock thing come about, then?” Sasha asked, curiosity overtaking her. “Syngorn’s supposed to be a font of the arcane and natural magic, right? Can’t imagine making deals with creatures from beyond the planes is, er…”

“Like I said,” Gerard said stiffly. “I don’t go back very often.”

“Fair enough. How’s it work, though, being a warlock?”

Gerard drew his shoulders in. “Why do you want to know?”

“Do I need a reason?” Sasha grinned impishly at him. “Maybe I just want to because it’s interesting.” With a snap of her fingers she sent up a small shower of multicolored sparks. “Magic’s fun, and it’s useful, and it took me weeks just to figure out how to do that, when I first started out. You made a deal with someone-or-something, and now you just have it. Can you blame me for being curious?”

“It really isn’t that simple,” Gerard muttered.

“So what is it, then?” Sasha pressed. “C’mon. Promise I won’t hold it against you.”

“Not sure it’s you he’s worried about, Sash,” Tim murmured. Martin shot a quick glare at him.

Gerard shrugged one shoulder, indicating the longsword slung over his back. “Got a nice sword out of it, I guess. It’s got an extra bite to it, so I can hurt things that usually shrug off hits from mortal weapons. Beyond that, I’ve got a few spells in my arsenal.” He hesitated, avoiding their eyes. “Dunno what else I can tell you. Every warlock’s different. Depends on the patron, on the pact.”

“Yours was—what was it again? Your patron, I mean. The Watcher?”

“Ceaseless Watcher, yeah.”

“What’s he get out of it?” Tim asked.

“Oh, I dunno.”

“You don’t _know?_ ” Sasha blurted out.

“How could you not know?” Martin demanded. “You bought magic with a pact, and you’re telling us you don’t even know what you paid?”

“It’s not exactly forthcoming,” Gerard replied. His stance was shrinking him again. “Besides, I haven’t been at this all that long. I figure I’ll muddle through, and if I’m doing something the Eye doesn’t like, it’ll find a way to let me know.”

“The Eye?” Tim echoed.

“Yep. Watcher, Ceaseless Watcher, Beholding, Eye, Unblinking Eye, Wandering Eye, It-Knows-You, the thing’s got loads of names. That’s how it usually is with these types. Most of ‘em can’t have real divinity, so they make up for it with fancy titles.” His eyes flickered toward Martin, glinting with something like humor. “I have to say, ‘Knowing Mistress’ is a lot more tasteful. Gets the point across just fine, right?”

Martin didn’t answer, unless you considered scowling an answer. Disappointment flitted across Gerard’s face as he looked away.

“Well, anyway,” he muttered, and turned to fuss with his saddle.

More questions burned at the back of Sasha’s tongue, but it was no use. The moment had passed. If she tried to ask him anything else, he’d just clam up.

Sasha shot a glare at Martin, but he was already mounting up again. Tim could only offer a helpless shrug as he followed suit, then leaned down to give her a hand up.

The rest of the day passed mostly in silence. As evening fell, they came upon a small hamlet just south of the road, with a rougher path cutting through the grass to lead straight to it. The village was tiny, hardly more than a handful of little cottages and barns clustered around a well and surrounded by farmland. But even from a distance Sasha could see that the lights were on and several chimneys had smoke rising from them.

The silence had gone unbroken for several hours, before Martin halted at the point where the path split off. “Seems like a good place to stop.”

“They might not have room,” Tim pointed out. “Doesn’t seem big enough to have an inn.”

“Yeah, maybe. But we might as well ask.”

“Lead on,” said Sasha.

Tim was right, of course; the hamlet was a small farming community, and its single public house was more for eating and drinking than sleeping. But, between Martin and Tim laying on the charm, they did get something. A cottage on the outskirts had stood empty ever since the death of its owner and the marriage of his daughter, and for a bit of coin their group was allowed to stay the night there.

Sasha suppressed a cheer as she watched the money change hands. This meant a bed to sleep in for the night, far away from twigs and pebbles and wandering insects.

“Not bad,” Tim remarked as they entered. It was small, and a bit dusty from disuse, but otherwise neat and well-kept. “Much better than the empty cabin we spent the night in, eh, Martin?”

Martin made a pained noise in the back of his throat.

“Yeah, I thought so too.” Tim scuffed the floor gently. “Less stains and ominous hunting gear in this one.”

“Think we can forgo the watch shifts?” Sasha asked hopefully. “Since we’re not sleeping out in the open anymore.”

Martin looked thoughtful, and not in a way that suggested he was going to agree. “I dunno… even if we’re inside, this village is still out in the open. I guess we could leave off keeping watch?”

Gerard raised his hand. “I can cast an alarm spell,” he offered. “It won’t cover the whole house, and we’ll have to sleep near each other to fit in its range, but it can at least secure the front door.”

“I… suppose,” Martin said warily. “If it can alert all of us and not just you?”

“Yeah I can make that happen.” There was something new in Gerard’s voice, almost eager, like he got an extra kick out of being helpful.

“Fine,” Martin sighed. “Do it. And then all of us are getting some rest, got it?”

He talked a big game, but Sasha knew better.

She knew, for example, that he stayed up later than the rest of them. She drifted off briefly, only to awaken a few minutes later to find him digging through his pouch.

_Odd time to repack,_ she thought faintly, as he pulled out a few things that she couldn’t quite make out. One of them was a stick of incense, judging by the sweet, smoky scent that followed.

Incense. Cleric thing. Probably an extra protection or something, since he didn’t seem to trust Gerard any farther than he could throw him.

Which wasn’t saying much. Martin was a big guy, Gerard was tall but twiggy—Martin could probably throw him pretty far if he tried.

With that delightful image in her mind, she drifted off.

* * *

By the time the first edge of sunlight leaked color across the sky, Gerard had given up.

He had slept… most likely. The night would not have passed so quickly, if he hadn’t. If he shut his eyes and let his sluggish mind properly think, he could almost remember dreaming of something, at some point. He couldn’t remember what. It was more a feeling than anything else, and these days the way his dreams felt was quite distinct.

It sat heavy in his chest as he got up, as he packed his things without a sound, as he found a comfortable place near a window to wait for the others to awaken. With nothing better to do, he stared out at the lightening sky, wide awake and fuzzy around the edges. Sleep, if it had come to him at all, had not been easy. Maybe it was a blessing that he couldn’t remember it.

Time slipped by him again. It seemed to him that he blinked and found new streaks of sunrise that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago.

And then without warning he was abruptly and mercilessly aware—of someone nearby, standing over him, moving closer—of a small bundle carefully set down beside him. Gerard smelled bread before he saw it, and it finally registered to him that he was hungry.

“You look awful,” Martin said, a bit gruffly. A cup sat in his hand, steaming gently. Behind him, the others were moving enough to be awake. Gerard hadn’t heard them getting up until now—which was a good sign, actually. It meant he’d managed to doze off.

“Thanks,” he replied, several seconds after the silence had become uncomfortable.

“Tea?” Martin offered. “It should at least wake you up, if you didn’t sleep much.”

Gerard’s empty stomach turned. He’d had tea a few times over the years when he was younger, enough for him to wonder why others seemed so determined to drink it. “No thanks,” he said. “Not much of a tea drinker.”

“Suit yourself,” Martin said with a shrug, and left Gerard with his breakfast.

At some point Tim had come up beside him, holding his own cup. “Sure you don’t want any? Don’t know how Martin does it, honestly. I didn’t think anyone but my mum could make it like this.”

“Mm.” Gerard hesitated. “She nice, your mum?”

“Yeah, she was,” Tim replied, then went on as Gerard struggled to wake up properly. “He does put in too much honey, though. Martin, I mean. Of course, any honey is too much, in my opinion. Tea’s best as-is, you know? Can’t really taste it if it’s too sweet.” He took another sip. “Reminds me of home, like this. Well, the good parts of home.”

Once he was finished eating, Gerard felt a touch more awake. He stood up, still shaking off the weariness of too little sleep, and nearly tripped over Sasha as she slipped in beside him.

“You look like you could use a walk,” she said. “C’mon, let’s go check the horses while they finish up here.” She waited for his nod of agreement before calling over her shoulder. “Hey Martin, we’re heading to the stables!”

“Oh! Alright.” Martin looked up from the bag he was packing. “Could you start saddling them up? We’re leaving as soon as possible.”

“Got it!” Sasha hooked an arm around Gerard’s and towed him outside.

The village was already awake around them. People were up and about, out in the fields and at the well. The stables where they’d left the horses for the night was on the other side of the village, not far but still a decent walk.

Sasha released his arm to stretch and yawn, sharp teeth showing like a cat’s. “Sleep alright?” she asked, breaking the silence of the chilly morning.

“No.”

“Yeah, stupid question,” Sasha admitted, turning to look sidelong at him. “Bad dreams or insomnia?”

“Don’t know for sure,” Gerard said with a shrug. “I can’t be sure I slept at all. No real reason. Just one of those nights.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“Do you now?”

At first Sasha walked along in silence beside him, tail switching from one side to the other. Gerard hadn’t meant to stump her, exactly, but the fact that she was having trouble answering was at least a little interesting.

“I guess so,” she said at length. “I mean, I don’t know what’s going on in your head, obviously. But I know how hard it gets to sleep, when you don’t… when you’re up against something new, or you’re somewhere unfamiliar. Or you’re worried about something and you can’t rationalize it away.”

Gerard found his hand straying upward to his throat, to the talisman that hung heavy around his neck, equal parts shield and weak point. “Right, yeah. Lot on my mind, that’s all. What about you?”

“Oh, I slept fine,” she said airily. “Me and Tim, we’ve been together for a good while, and I know he’s got my back. And Martin’s… solid. We haven’t known him long, but he hasn’t steered us wrong yet. And he took us on even though—” She cut herself off.

Curiosity dictated that he ask. He knew it, and Sasha knew it too, so he didn’t.

“So, you and Tim…?” he asked instead.

“Me and Tim?” The words were barely out when her eyes widened in realization. “Oh! No. No, we’re not— _I’m_ not—no. I love him dearly, but not like that.”

“Right, got it. Just checking.”

They reached the stables. The horses were exactly where they’d left them, no worse for wear and quite comfortable in their warm stalls. Sasha went first to the gray gelding she shared with Tim, patting it as it nosed against her.

Gerard watched her out of the corner of his eye. He… cautiously liked her. She was friendly, though not the empty-headed sort of friendly of someone who’d never met a reason not to be. It was a calculated, intentional kind of friendliness. Which was fine—better than fine, actually. That wasn’t what made him cautious.

She was curious, that was the problem. Curious, and not very subtle about it. That could cause problems down the line.

In Gerard’s experience, sometimes the best way to deal with curious people was to be curious right back.

“So, did the three of you know each other back in Westruun?” he asked.

“Tim and I did,” Sasha replied. “We met up traveling in the Stormcrest mountains, years back. We only met Martin recently, when he needed an escort to Vasselheim. We’ve been looking after him ever since.”

“And… you did that by bringing him into a shadow-infested mine.”

Sasha snorted. “His idea! Apparently there’s some other skinny, nosy half-elf running around, because once that mapmaker’s wife described you, he made up his mind to come looking.”

“Ah.” Gerard paused. “Sorry to disappoint?”

“It’s alright. We’ll meet him in Vasselheim, if you’re curious about your doppelganger.”

Gerard hummed thoughtfully. “Sounds like a lot of trouble over a hunch.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” Sasha said with a shrug. “I mean, aside from the man who died. …Shame about him. But I’d say we handled ourselves alright, even Martin. Well. _Especially_ Martin, I suppose. Lucky man had the one thing those shadows were weak to.”

Gerard hesitated, suppressing a shiver. It wasn’t something he was likely to forget. First the flames of radiance, then the pure, unadulterated divinity that poured from him and drove their attackers away. The memory sat in his chest like a spider at the center of a web, all sharp legs and plucking strings. It was hard to tell whether it was fear or envy.

“I know,” Sasha said, amused. “I was surprised, too. Guess he’s not quite as mousy as he looks.”

“I don’t think he trusts me very much.” The admission came almost unbidden. He couldn’t help it; he’d been dancing around it in his thoughts, never voicing it or properly hearing it spoken.

“That’s… well, if he doesn’t, I don’t think that’s your fault,” Sasha assured him. “My guess is, you’re the first warlock he’s ever met, and he’s not sure what to make of you, being a cleric himself. Sorry about him.”

“I’m used to it,” Gerard replied absently. “Besides, not like I’m not still grateful. I’d be dead if it weren’t for him.”

Sasha gave a humorless laugh. “Kind of makes it worst, to be honest.”

“I don’t need to be liked.”

“Fair enough. What, then?”

Gerard glanced at her, startled. She wasn’t looking back; her question had been casual, tossed out like small talk. But there was a point to it, an intent, like a dart thrown offhand that still found its target.

His fingernail clinked against the pendant around his neck, flicking it outward until it came to rest against his collarbone again.

“Good question,” he said. “Right now, I’ll settle for staying alive. From there, we’ll see.”

“Hm. Think you’ll find it in Vasselheim?”

“Maybe.” Vasselheim meant refuge, if he didn’t find himself on the business end of someone else’s blade. Refuge meant having the space to breathe and figure things out. “You?”

“We both have reasons to be grateful to Martin, I suppose,” she replied. “A one-way trip to Vasselheim was an opportunity I couldn’t afford to pass up.”

That was, in Gerard’s experience, a pretty clear way to say _I’m running from something._

“Ah,” he replied. “Me, too.”

Between the two of them, they managed to finish saddling the three horses before the sun had fully risen. The sky was shot through with purple and orange when Gerard stepped outside again to see if Martin or Tim was coming to join them.

His attention was drawn eastward, as if an invisible hand had taken him by the chin and turned his head for him—a feeling that was growing increasingly, unnervingly familiar. Dust rose from the path that led from the main road, kicked up by four sets of horse’s hooves. As Gerard watched, the rider at the head of the small party dismounted, and was met by one of the local farmers.

More travelers, he reasoned. Probably looking for supplies, or directions.

But he didn’t turn away, and because of that he watched as the rider exchanged words with the man, then grabbed him by the front of his shirt and thrust him aside so forcefully that he fell. Laughter rang out from the distance as the horsemen continued on their way into town. Two of them didn’t bother steering around the fallen man.

Gerard instinctively reached up, to the space where his sword usually rested over his shoulder. “Sasha,” he said quietly. “I don’t like the look of this.”

“The look of wh—oh.” He barely heard her footsteps as she came up beside him. “Oh, shit.”

“Is that a general ‘oh shit,’ or an ‘oh shit’ of recognition?”

“Listen to me,” Sasha hissed. “Get back to the others, tell them Rentoul’s here.”

Gerard ran a few mental calculations, slotting together clues like puzzle pieces in the space of a split second. He looked to the riders again, all four of them heading to the next local they could harass. Their path would take them straight to the stables.

“Are they after you?” he asked.

“That’s not important right now—”

“I think it is.”

“Yes, alright?” Sasha snapped. “So we need to go, now, and Martin and Tim need to know—”

“And they’re heading here,” he interrupted. “If I leave you sitting here waiting, they’ll come straight to you.” He chanced another look outside, this time in the direction they’d come. It wasn’t devoid of cover; there were houses to hide behind, along with parked carts. “Can you sneak past without being seen, if you get the others?”

Sasha hesitated, frowning as she ran some numbers of her own. “I… think so. Yeah. Yeah, I can do it. Hold on.”

She snapped her fingers at her side, and the sound reverberated oddly in the air of the stables. Sasha’s form rippled and shifted, changing before Gerard’s eyes.

In a matter of seconds, Sasha had lost almost a foot of height. Her tail and horns were gone, her skin paler, her shorter hair blonde as straw, and she was dressed in the same simple homespun clothes as the villagers.

“Just in case I get caught,” she said, and then she was gone.

Gerard checked the riders’ progress one last time before he returned to the horses. All three were saddled and ready to ride out at a moment’s notice, their reins secured to keep them still until the others returned. His own bag was already strapped in place, along with his longsword. The eye twisted out of the wires of the basket hilt stared out at him almost expectantly. The weight of the Watcher’s gaze pressed at him through the polished metal, plucking at his nerves with its impatience.

He considered the sword for a moment, fighting a scowl that threatened to take over his face.

“Don’t need to kill anyone, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said under his breath. “I _won’t_. They aren’t monsters, just… people. Assholes maybe, but still people. They belong in this world just as much as I do.”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as if in answer. Glowering, first at the sword and then at nothing at all. Gerard took the sheathed weapon and secured it over his shoulder in its usual place.

Then he walked out and met them.

The rider at the head of the pack was as human as they come. It was possible that he wasn’t the Rentoul that Sasha mentioned, but the name had already stuck in Gerard’s head, so until otherwise specified, he was Rentoul. The other three were a mixed bag: a scar-faced dwarf, a hulking half-orc, and a second, weedier human who hung back and let the others grandstand. There was a small crowd gathering, locals anxiously waiting to see what these new interlopers would do, but too frightened to involve themselves directly.

Gerard planted his feet in the dust. He could feel the Eye’s gaze fixed on him, just as eager to see what would happen next. It was almost comforting.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Two and a half words in, and Rentoul’s voice was already dripping menace. “ _Can_ you?”

They were all armed. Rentoul had a nice-looking sword of his own, along with a wickedly long knife. The dwarf was toying with the handle of a mace. The half-orc was casually loading a crossbow. As for the skinny one, it was hard to say, but Gerard wouldn’t put it past him to have a few knives on him.

“Guess that depends,” Gerard replied. “What d’you need help with? I mean, you all look pretty lost.”

Rentoul’s lip curled. “You could say that. You wouldn’t believe how unhelpful some people are, when all you want to do is ask for directions.”

Behind him, one of the injured villagers was carefully helped to his feet.

Gerard clenched his teeth. At least everyone’s eyes were on him, not Sasha or Tim or Martin. “Right. Well. If it’s a direction you want, I’d recommend… back. The way you came. Because whatever you’re looking for, I doubt you’ll find it here.”

Rentoul stepped forward.

Beyond them, several onlookers flinched.

Gerard hated this. He really did. There were so many monsters in the world, and outside of the world trying to get in. Vicious things with malice stitched into the fiber of their being, the kind most mothers whispered about to frighten children, and his own mother whispered about to educate him. There were vast, unspeakable horrors chewing at the edges of reality at any given moment. And because of that, he never knew what to do with thugs. They were such a mundane evil, hardly worth the wasted spells.

“I’m looking for a tiefling,” Rentoul said, toying meaningfully with the handle of his knife. “Dark hair, skin like copper. Mouthy bitch. Keeps a pet human. You seen her?”

“No,” Gerard said evenly.

Out came the knife, with a clean rasp as its serrated blade came free. “You sure about that?”

“You’re burning daylight, don’t you think?” Gerard asked.

Another step closer, this one directly into Gerard’s space. It was the kind of step forward that demanded a step back from everyone else. Gerard stayed where he was as the Watcher’s gaze burned against the back of his neck.

And then Rentoul met his eyes and faltered.

That was nothing new, either. People with that kind of height were always surprised when they didn’t have to look down to see his eyes.

Gerard smiled. “Better move on before she gets any farther ahead.”

For a moment, he thought it might work.

Then Rentoul turned away, shoulders stiff. “He’s lying. Search the place, drag her out by the hair if you need.”

“Suit yourself,” Gerard said, turning back toward the stables.

Fear shot through him like ice in his veins, a warning screamed from his ever-watchful patron. It was the only reason Rentoul’s knife didn’t run him straight through.

* * *

They weren’t going to make a clean getaway. Sasha knew that the second Rentoul and McMullen and their friends rode in. Rentoul was a thug and an asshole, and worst of all he was _thorough_ about it. He didn’t leave anything half done, especially when he thought he was owed something.

She’d dropped her disguise as soon as she reached the house. Martin and Tim couldn’t disguise themselves the same way, and Rentoul wasn’t stupid enough to miss her even if she wore a different face while she was with them.

They had just finished gathering the last of their things when the commotion outside reached their ears. Martin charged out the door first, angry and determined, axe in hand.

“C’mon.” Sasha slung her pack over her shoulder with one hand and drew her rapier with the other. “Let’s keep him from getting knifed in broad daylight.”

Outside, the little hamlet was in an uproar. A handful villagers had gathered near the center of town, milling and shouting as a dwarf kicked down the door to one of the houses, disappeared inside, and emerged a few moments later, taking a swipe at the door frame with his mace. Beside him, still on horseback, a half-orc kept the onlookers back by hefting his crossbow.

Sasha caught her breath at the sight. “Are they _stupid?_ ”

“Gotta be,” Tim muttered back. “That or Rentoul’s just stubborn.”

Watching the scene, Sasha caught sight of movement further off, and—speak of the devils. There was Rentoul himself, striding over from the stables with McMullen at his side and Gerard in pursuit.

From the looks of it, she’d missed a fight. Gerard was hiding a limp. Rentoul was down a knife. Blood dripped from his nose and Gerard’s fist.

From the distance, Gerard caught her eye and jerked his head back toward the stables. The horses were ready. They could make a getaway, if they could just get past the thugs.

At that moment, Rentoul’s eyes landed on her.

“Bet you thought you were real clever, James!” he barked. “You thought you could steal from the Clasp and get clean away, didn’t you!”

All faces turned to look at her, from the Clasp bullies to the angry, frightened villagers. Sasha fought the urge to shrink back. Attention was bad—she stayed alive by avoiding it, and now every eye in the village was on her. Being watched had never felt like a physical weight before.

Tim stepped in beside her, already nocking an arrow to his bow. “Piss off, Rentoul,” he spat back. “Don’t try and play the victim.”

Emboldened, Sasha let a few sparks fly from her rapier. “Everyone here can see you’re a thug,” she sneered at him. “Move on, Rentoul. Unless swiping hoes and pitchforks earns you points in the Clasp these days.”

Rentoul advanced, drawing his sword. It was a chipped, battered thing, still stained from its last use, whatever—or whoever—that had been. He probably kept it soiled on purpose just to turn stomachs like Sasha’s was turning now.

He managed about four steps closer before Martin stepped directly into his path, and Sasha barely bit back a strangled noise of alarm.

“ _Martin—_ ”

“You can’t have her.”

Rentoul, for his part, looked genuinely dumbfounded. “What did you just say to me?”

“Did I stutter?” Martin demanded. His voice rose with each word, until the volume no longer seemed natural. “She’s with _me._ They’re _all_ with me, and I don’t have time to deal with you throwing your weight around.”

Rentoul recoiled, face darkening with rage and, against all odds, actual fear. “And what’s a piece of shit like you gonna do to stop me? That tiefling _owes_ me!”

Martin squared up, stepping into the ground that Rentoul lost. “I really don’t give a damn what you think you’re owed. These are nice shoes, and you’re not worth the spells it’d take to clean you off them, so **fuck. Off.** ”

The last words rang out with the thunderclap of evocation, and Rentoul reeled back as if he’d been struck. When he opened his eyes again, they were ringed with the bright red of burst veins.

In the midst of the confusion, Sasha noted that the half-orc, still seated on his horse, was well within range. With the barest effort of will, a spectral hand appeared alongside his saddle and undid the girth.

A mage-hand wasn’t strong enough to pull him down. But with the girth undone, all it took was one tug, and gravity did the rest.

The half-orc fell off his horse with enough force to knock the wind out of him, and the clatter of his crossbow landing on the hard-packed earth sent his horse bolting. One of the nearby villagers, quick on her feet, darted in and snatched it before he could retrieve it.

In an instant, the angry, and by this point armed, farmers closed in.

Tim caught her eye. “We should go?”

“We should go.”

Martin was already dodging around the growing fight. Tim and Sasha met him on the other side of it, just in time to see McMullen worm his way free of the struggle. Sasha met his eyes purely on accident and glared at him. McMullen’s eyes widened, and he ran faster.

They caught up to Gerard, and together they sprinted the rest of the way to the stables, where a couple of roughed-up farmers were taking shelter.

“Hi,” Martin blurted out as they rushed past. “S-sorry—sorry about all this!”

“No need to fuss,” one of them assured him with a world-weary sigh. “We’ve seen bandits before.”

“Still, we didn’t mean to bring trouble—actually, here.” Martin dug a handful of gold coins out of his pouch, bagged them in a handkerchief, and left them on the stable floor. “For any damages.”

“Thanks for the hospitality!” Tim called over his shoulder.

The horses were still saddled and waiting for them. In less than a minute they were mounted up and riding out of the village, back along the path to the main road. When Sasha chanced a look back, all she saw was the dust cloud rising from the brawl in the middle of town.

They were back on the road when she saw Tim looking over his shoulder—not toward the village, but back the way they had come, toward Kymal. In the far distance, more dust rose from the road as many riders headed their way.

“Rentoul might’ve brought more friends,” he said grimly.

Gerard was looking over his shoulder, too. Martin, in the lead and watching the road ahead, was not.

The Verdant Expanse loomed in the distance. Overhead, rainclouds began to gather.


	6. Chapter 6

“We shouldn’t stop too long.”

There was no trace of urgency in Gerard’s voice, and that was the worst part. If he shouted it, or choked it out in a fearful whisper, or let his voice tremble, at least then it would have matched with the words. But instead, he spoke with all the tired calm of an oldster predicting a storm on a sunny day, as he watched the dust rise in the distance.

“If we run the horses any harder, one of them’s bound to drop dead,” Martin snapped. Tim couldn’t help but wince. Martin was tired, of course. They were all tired, and worried, and just on the edge of frightened. Hard not to be, with the Clasp so close behind.

Of course Rentoul had come out here with more than just three for backup. And of course the scuffle in the farming village hadn’t slowed them down for long—Tim only hoped the Clasp hadn’t caused more trouble for those farmers after they left.

Not an hour after they’d left the village behind, Gerard had announced, almost matter-of-fact, that Rentoul was on their trail again. That was where their troubles had begun.

They had ridden almost nonstop through the day. They ran the horses as hard as they dared. They ate in the saddle if they ate at all. All the while, the dust cloud behind them remained constant and inexorable.

Now, as evening crept up on them, they were stopped at a watering hole to give the horses a break and a drink, however short it would have to be. As dire as things were, Martin was right; if they didn’t take care of their mounts then they were as good as dead anyway.

“Just saying, they’re gaining again,” said Gerard. His mare raised her head from the small pond and turned to graze on the grass beside it.

“How do you know that?” Sasha asked. “The dust cloud looks the same to me.”

“I dunno. Just do.”

“Oh, that’s helpful,” Martin said, dry as trail dust.

“You know what? It kind of is,” Tim shot back, before he could contain himself. “Whether or not you believe him.”

“Of course I believe him,” Martin said testily. “So they’re gaining on us! _Obviously_ they’re gaining on us. We’ve stopped and they haven’t—”

“But they have to eventually, don’t they?” Sasha pointed out, her voice steady with forced calm. “They’re on horses, same as us. They can’t go forever.”

“They don’t have to,” Martin retorted, already swinging back up into the saddle. “They just have to go long enough to run us down. Then it won’t matter if their horses drop dead underneath them, there’s more of them than us.”

“Okay, so outrunning them isn’t an option,” Tim said patiently. “Then we lose them instead. Get off the road, stop giving them a dust cloud to follow.” Of course, any tracker worth their salt might see where horse hooves tore up the grassland, but it was a start. “We shook Rentoul once. We can do it again.”

“On a flat prairie?” Sasha asked skeptically. “I’m good at going unnoticed, but I’m not _that_ good, and I’m betting the three of you are worse.”

“Good thing we’re passing close to a forest, then,” Gerard broke in.

Tim clenched his teeth.

“There’s a fork in the road, up ahead,” Gerard went on, mounting his horse again. “The left path leads straight south into the Verdant Expanse. We’ve got a better chance of losing them in the woods than we do on the plains.”

“He’s—” Sasha shot a quick glance at Tim. “He’s not wrong. Last time we took a shortcut through the Bramblewood…”

They were right. No matter how much Tim’s gut twisted at it, they were right. “What about what Blake said?” he reminded them. “About fey in the Verdant Expanse?”

“He was pretty vague about it,” Gerard pointed out. “And fey… they’re dangerous, but dangerous doesn’t always been malicious.”

He sounded uncertain even as he said it, offering it hesitantly like a breakable thing, and Tim realized with sinking dread that he knew. Not the specifics of course, but he’d heard Tim protest, and he must know there was something to it, even if he didn’t know what. The look of cautious pity on his face only made it worse, and Tim was glad when Gerard finally turned to Martin for the final word. Slowly, Tim and Sasha did the same.

Martin was looking to the forest in question; if he noticed that all eyes were on him, he gave no sign of it.

“Here’s how I see it,” he said. His tone didn’t lean one way or another; it had settled at the balanced center of plain fact. “If we go straight on, the Clasp catches up with us eventually. And—” He looked to Sasha and Tim. “—We know they’re against us. If we run into them, that’s a fight we can’t win. Right?”

“Right,” Sasha murmured.

“Right,” Tim agreed, reluctantly.

Martin turned back toward the distant edge of the forest. “If we go into the Verdant Expanse, we’ve got a better chance of losing them. We’ll… we’ll lose _time_ , but we can also lose them. And in the meantime, we _might_ run into some fey, and they _might_ be unfriendly.”

“Right,” Gerry muttered under his breath.

“The Verdant Expanse is a _chance_ ,” Martin finished. “And I’m not seeing a lot of those.”

All laid out, neat and logical. They’d be crazy to choose any other path. Tim knew that. He _knew_ that.

“You’re the boss,” he said, distantly.

“We stay together,” said Martin. “No matter what else happens. No wandering off alone.”

No arguments there. Not while they had a crowd of thieves behind them and a fey-infested forest ahead.

Within an hour of leaving the waterhole behind, they reached the fork. As one, they all turned south toward the looming treeline of the Verdant Expanse.

The first drops of rain began to fall.

* * *

Their first taste of the Verdant Expanse was neither verdant nor expansive. The woods were dark, wet, and miserable, and with the trees so close together, the forest felt cramped and enclosed even as they followed the road.

Tim was in the lead, his hood pulled over his head to keep the rain off of him. One of Martin’s dancing lights hovered at his shoulder, lighting the way as he kept them on the winding path.

“Think they followed us?” Sasha’s voice barely reached him over the steady whisper of rainfall. At least it was warm. With the two of them riding together, they were pressed close enough to share the same cloak.

“Probably,” said Tim. “Haven’t seen a dust cloud in hours, though.” Between the rain and the trees, it was impossible.

“We could hide in the trees, I bet,” Sasha said hopefully. “They’d pass us right by. We should be far enough ahead for the rain to cover any tracks.”

Tim cast a longing look at the trees, so thick and close that they probably provided cover from the wet. “Might be a good idea.”

“Unless this place really is crawling with fey,” said Gerard, suddenly right behind him.

Tim almost toppled out of the saddle. “How long have you been that close?” he hissed.

“I’m a quiet guy.”

“We can’t keep this up through the night,” Martin broke in, pulling alongside them. “If we get off the road, we have a better chance of finding somewhere to stop for the night. We’ll just—” His face twisted with painful indecision. “We’ll take our chances with the fey. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The words were optimistic, and they might have been convincing if they hadn’t been stumbling along on exhausted horses through a storm-drenched forest. Tim could tell by the look on Martin’s face that he hadn’t even convinced himself.

There was a tree up ahead, or at least the remains of one. By now it was a snag, easily as wide as Tim’s body and several times as tall, ending in a broken off top that still hung slanted over the road. To Tim’s eyes, it was as decent guiding landmark.

“Right then. This way.” Tim turned at the distinctive dead tree, marked its location and appearance, and led their party off the road and into the dripping trees.

It was darker beneath the close foliage, but a quick spell lit up his vision, and Martin’s light did the rest. The oppressive downpour also gentled, somewhat. Water still dripped down over their heads, heavy fat droplets swollen from rain gathering on the leaves overhead. But the drops were less frequent, not so omnipresent as they were out on the road.

One particularly bloated droplet landed in Tim’s eye. He winced, wiped it a way, and continued leading them through the drenched woods.

It wasn’t like he’d never camped in bad weather. He and Danny had been caught in a few downpours in the past. It was filthy and uncomfortable and made for heavy equipment, but he’d done it before and he could do it again. The criminals on their tail were certainly new, but it ultimately didn’t change much, besides adding a few requirements to what he was looking for.

Somewhere raised, to keep the rain from gathering. Somewhere hidden, to avoid unfriendly eyes. Somewhere defensible with plenty of escape routes, if all else failed.

When he spotted the hollow, he almost passed it right by. Little valleys like that, dips between the forest’s natural hills and rises, almost always had watercourses running through them. And in a downpour like this, the worst place to fall asleep was next to a stream.

But he looked again, just to mark the path, and he could swear that the ground seemed drier. Maybe it was the slope of the surrounding earth, or the way the trees arched thickly over it like a natural roof. He couldn’t see a stream from here, either.

It was worth a look, at least.

Motioning to the others, Tim led the way into the hollow.

The change was so minuscule, Tim almost didn’t register it at all. The warmth in the air could have been the closeness of the sloped hills surrounding them, or the narrower path forcing them closer together. The thicker foliage overhead could have accounted for the way the rain let up on his flinching face. By all accounts the hollow was a promising place to stop—sheltered, hidden, maybe a bit enclosed for his liking, but hardly a death trap. And they were quite a ways from the road, tucked away amid the rest of the soaked forest. It was practically luck that Tim managed to spot it at all.

Gerry was the first to break the silence, if the dull roar of rainfall could really be called that. “Kind of hate this place, actually,” he remarked.

“Are you joking?” Sasha asked. “I can see straight ahead without getting rain in my eyes for the first time since it started.”

Gerry continued to eye the hollow skeptically. “I just don’t think we should be here,” he said, whatever that meant.

“Well, I don’t think we’re going to find a better place than this to—Tim?” Sasha twisted around to look at him, confused. “Why’d you stop?”

“I didn’t,” Tim replied, nudging their shared horse forward. The animal refused to budge beyond nervous prancing and tossing its head, but no amount of kicking would get it to walk again. A glance at the others told Tim that Martin and Gerry were in the same situation. The horses milled around in agitation, snorting quietly when the reins were pulled, but not one of them would take a single step further into the hollow.

A prickle of unease ran up Tim’s spine.

“We could always stop here?” Sasha asked more than suggested.

“Um…” They could. It was warmer, dryer, hidden from from a casual or untrained observer. Or, Tim could listen to the warnings crawling up and down his spine, and tell the others to walk right back out into the pouring rain and cold.

“There’s something up ahead,” Martin spoke up, jarring him out of his indecision. “Right? I’m not the only one who’s seeing that?” He pointed, and Tim looked.

At first glance it looked like an outcropping of stone amid the loam and undergrowth of the hollow. But a second glance proved otherwise; The way the stone stood up was too regular, too _deliberate_. It looked more like a shaped wall then natural jutting rock.

His horse still refused to move further, so Tim carefully dismounted to take the necessary steps forward.

“Tim—” He could barely hear it over the rainfall, but moments later Martin joined him on foot. “Tim, what are you doing?”

The crawling on his back felt different now—more like sharp claws setting in, holding him in place, pressing him forward. “Just getting a closer look. Wait here.”

Martin, infuriatingly, did not wait. His hand was on Tim’s shoulder, not quite gripping, just resting there in case he needed to. The horses would not follow, so they continued forward on foot until they reached the worn length of stone. It was nothing special, just speckled granite cracked through and overgrown with moss. It was what lay beyond that was really worth seeing.

The ground dipped further downward into the damp shade of the hollow, walkways carved through the undergrowth with just enough random chaos to seem almost natural, but not quite. The slope was gentle, almost regular, as if the forest had attempted to grow shallow steps leading down into the ring at the very bottom. It was there that any semblance of natural growth ended: small standing stones no higher than Tim’s knee formed a perfect ring around a low platform of flat, mossy granite. Surrounding the platform, lining the slope that led back up to where Tim and Martin stood, were rows of massive jutting tree roots and fallen trees, all overgrown with lush green moss.

Seats, surrounding a stage. An amphitheatre, looking for all the world as if it had grown out of the forest floor.

Martin’s rest hand curled into a tight grip, but the words were already on Tim’s lip before Martin had the chance to voice them.

“We need to get out.”

“Now,” Martin agreed.

When Tim turned, he spotted Gerard already heading their way, only stopping short when he saw that they were coming back.

“Come on.” There was no mistaking the urgency in Gerard’s tone, in his face, in the very air that trembled between them like wire wound tight and plucked. “Come on, come on, _come on._ ”

They had nearly reached him when a roar rent the air.

It was useless to wonder where it had come from, Tim knew in the back of his head. It wasn’t the sort of noise that came from somewhere; it was only meant to exist, and it did it very well. It was everywhere, all at once, filling his ears and his throat and his blood until he felt the soft-bellied prey animal that lived deep within him come alive and scream at him to run, run into the dark where hungry eyes might lose him.

The horses screamed. To Tim’s horror, Sasha was thrown from their mount’s back with a yell of alarm, and barely managed to scramble away to avoid being kicked and trampled. He was at her side in an instant, dragging her out of range of the flailing hooves as the horses turned and bolted out of the hollow.

“Shit!” Sasha’s nails dug into his arm, and she pulled him after them. “Come on!”

“W-wait, Sasha—!”

“We can’t afford to lose the horses!”

Every instinct screamed for caution—if he bolted then he was prey too. But with every missed step, Sasha pulled further ahead, and the only thought more unbearable than being hunted was losing Sasha in the darkness.

By the time they realized the horses were gone—by the time they stopped running themselves—Tim had the presence of mind to look back and see that Martin and Gerard were no longer with them.

“Shit,” he breathed out. “Sasha, we’re—”

“I know.” She was already stepping closer. “I know, I’m sorry, I just—the horses—”

“I get it.” His hand found her wrist, gripping it firmly but not so tight as to be painful. “I get it, let’s just… let’s go back. I can retrace our steps.”

He was turning around as he said it, already scanning the underbrush for footprints and broken branches and trampled vegetation. They hadn’t been careful, running through the woods like that, and the trail they left would stick out like—

Except—

“Or not,” he muttered, glaring at the pristine undergrowth, every bit as tangled and unbroken as if he and Sasha had never set foot in it.

“What’s the matter?” Sasha’s hand strayed to her side, toward one of her daggers rather than her rapier.

“No tracks. Can you see any magic?”

“Um, give me a second.” A few moments later, Sasha flinched against him, with a hiss of pain or discomfort.

Tim’s heart went to his throat as he steadied her. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just… wasn’t expecting that.” Sasha pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes, massaging her forehead. “Ever had light shine _right_ into your eyes? With darkvision? It was a little like that.”

“That… doesn’t sound right,” Tim said slowly. “That spell’s never done that before, has it?”

“No, it’s usually just points of light. Magic items glowing, that kind of thing.” Sasha shook her head as if to clear it, then opened her eyes cautiously again. “Tim, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this entire place is soaked in magic. There’s so much of it, I can’t even tell what kind. What happened?”

“Well, I can guess—”

“Hey!” a familiar voice called out. “Hey, is that you two? Where’d you go?”

Beside him, Sasha stood up straight. “Martin? Martin, over here!”

It took a moment for Tim to spot the familiar figure moving toward them, carefully picking his way over high roots and thick brush. That was a relief; they hadn’t lost Martin after all.

“Is Gerard with you?” Sasha asked.

“No,” was the reply. “No, I need help finding him.”

Tim’s ears itched when Martin’s voice reached them. That was Martin’s voice, wasn’t it? It had to be. It certainly sounded like him, and Sasha was calling him Martin. So why…?

A short distance away, still half-hidden amid the trees, the figure halted. “Could you come closer? I need help finding him.”

Tim had an arrow to his bowstring before his mind registered that that voice, no matter how close it might sound, was not Martin’s voice. When he shot it, it didn’t scream in Martin’s voice, either.

Sasha, quick on the uptake as always, fired off three bolts of magic. They struck home, one after another, and Tim took advantage of the creatures daze to loose another arrow and, just for good measure, Mark the thing.

The figure recoiled with each hit, form shifting and shrinking until it had shed any remaining resemblance to Martin. By the time it snarled and vanished from view, its shape was wasted and bony.

“What was that thing?” Sasha hissed, gripping her rapier.

“Green hag,” Tim replied grimly as he nocked a third arrow. “Gods, I hate hags.”

As if in answer, the thing reappeared inches away from him and raked its claws over his face. Tim recoiled with a yell, shutting his eyes to keep the blood from running into them. He heard Sasha snarl in guttural Infernal, and opened his eyes just in time to see her send a gout of fire into the shrieking hag’s face. Tim’s nextarrow found its shoulder, and it vanished again.

It took longer than Tim would have liked; hags were always more durable than they looked. By the time they managed to bring it down, Sasha was bleeding from a series of claw marks across her back and shoulders, and Tim could taste the blood running from his nose to his mouth. It was Sasha who got the final blow with her rapier; Tim could hardly see it happen when his head felt like a spike had gone through his skull.

Moments later, he felt her fingertips against his temples, sending cool healing magic through him. “Wait—wait, hang on, you shouldn’t waste a spell—”

Already did it,” Sasha said lightly. “You alright? What spell did she hit you with?”

“Vicious Mockery, I think,” he answered, as the spots cleared from his vision. “Same thing Martin did to Rentoul before we left that village. Didn’t realize you could cast it just by screaming in someone’s face. Damn. I almost feel sorry for him.”

When Sasha didn’t answer, he opened his eyes again. “Sash? You listening?”

“Yeah, just…” her voice trailed off for a moment. She was staring off into the woods, frowning in worried thought. “Trying to decide if that’s a bad sign or not.”

Tim followed her gaze. Just ahead, half hidden in the mottled dark green of the forest, was a small, one-room hut.

“Oh,” Tim said, resigned.

“I mean, the last cabin we found in the woods wasn’t too bad,” Sasha pointed out.

“Which would be helpful if we were still in the woods,” Tim muttered.

“What?”

Before Tim could reply, a light appeared in the previously darkened window. Before he knew it, Sasha was moving toward it. “Sasha, wait.”

“For what? Maybe we can wait here for the others.”

“Sasha!” Tim hissed. “Sasha do you even know where we are right now?”

“No, Tim, I don’t! Ergo—” She waved in the direction of the hut. “We’re asking for directions. Or at the very least we’re getting shelter from…” Her pace slowed, her voice trailed off, and she glanced upward. “Huh. When did it stop raining?”

She was still moving, her mind made up. Tim could either follow her or let her go on alone, and that didn’t bear thinking about. Reluctantly he jogged to catch up. “Sasha, I don’t think you’re quite getting it, so can you just—slow down for two seconds?”

She gave him a quizzical look. “Getting what?”

“Seriously? Detect Magic almost blinded you, and we just fought a green hag!”

“And? Blake told us there were fey in the Verdant Expanse, that was the risk we decided to take!” Sasha jerked her head to the hut, where lamp light still flickered in the windows. “If anything we should be warning whoever lives here.”

Tim almost passed out on the spot when she raised her fist to knock. But before she had the chance, the door swung open.

Gentle yellow light bathed the patch of moss that passed for a doorstep. Tim’s hand strayed to his short sword, before his gaze turned abruptly downward.

An old woman stood in the doorway, peering out at them through a pair of delicate crystal spectacles perched across her nose. She was wrapped up warmly for winter, in a wool dress with a patched apron and a chunky knit shawl around her shoulders. Between the wispy snow-white curls on her head, and her wrinkled skin as thin and delicate-looking as rice paper, she certainly looked ancient. But she stood on her own two feet without a cane, and when she smiled at them, her teeth were straight and white.

“Tonight’s a night for visitors,” she remarked. “Come in, then, before you catch your death of cold.”

The only cold Tim could feel was the chill settling in his blood, right down to the bone marrow. “You’re very generous,” he said evenly. “But we wouldn’t want to impose.”

The woman’s wrinkled smile widened. “Stars and stones, a young man who knows his manners. Please, be my guests.”

“Thank you for your invitation,” Tim answered, eyeing her warily. He could feel Sasha’s curious gaze on him as they followed the old woman inside.

From within, the hut was not a single room, nor was it really a hut anymore. It was comfortable and spacious, with an entryway that led into a sitting room and kitchen on one side, and the bottom of a staircase on the other. Sasha stopped short when she took this in, and Tim carefully slid his hand into hers.

Frames decorated the walls. Tim thought they were paintings at first, but a closer look revealed curved, patterned cracks and lines through each image. Jigsaw puzzles, then, completed and framed and hung up. An odd choice of decoration, but it was better than skulls or skins on display.

The old woman’s comment about visitors made sense when they came upon a man in the sitting room, frowning over a teacup. He was well-dressed, especially if the fine cloak hung up to dry was his. Something about his face tugged at Tim’s memory, but he was sure that he’d never met him before. He was older, his hair fully gray, his face lined, his green eyes bright with interest as he glanced up at them.

Beside him, Sasha bit back a gasp.

“I apologize for the interruption,” the old woman said. “Had to answer the door, you know.”

The man in the sitting room smiled. “It’s no trouble, Miss Angela,” he said. “I’ve just about finished, myself. Good evening to you both,” he added.

Before Tim could reply, Sasha blurted out, “You’re the archmage of Tal’Dorei.”

The man blinked, and his smile widened. “Oh dear, I’ve been caught.” He stood up, offering a polite hand to shake. “Elias Bouchard. A pleasure to meet you this fine evening.”

“I—nice to meet you,” Sasha answered, sounding faintly baffled as she shook his hand. “Sorry, what are you doing in the Verdant Expanse? The last I heard, you were over in Emon, at the Alabaster Lyceum.”

“Oh, I have been, but it’s nice to have a break every now and then,” Bouchard replied. “Shake off the dust of academia, you know.” He chuckled, inviting them in on the joke. There was something in his smile that Tim didn’t like. “You seem to be a bit out of the way, yourselves.”

“We got a bit lost,” Sasha replied. “Got caught in the rain, you know how it is. And with the woods crawling with—ow!” Tim stepped on her foot.

“We’re just getting our bearings,” Tim said shortly.

“Tea?” The old woman—Angela—was back, tray in hand. “And if you need directions, I’m happy to provide. I know these woods like the back of my hand.”

“What do you want in return?” Tim asked.

Angela considered him for a moment, with sharp blue eyes that were at once much younger and impossibly older than the rest of her face. “Hm, no,” she said after a moment. “You’re already interesting enough on your own, without my help.”

“What does that mean?” Sasha asked, shooting a look of alarm at Tim.

“Got yourself in a bit of a tangle, haven’t you?” Angela went on, eyes passing over Tim’s face again. Her gaze was sharp but not quite painful, like razor blades tracing his skin without breaking it. “It does look lovely from where I am.”

She smiled at him again, eyes crinkling with amusement as they slid past him to something over his shoulder.

He looked.

The jigsaws on the wall were pictures, of course. Every one of them was different. A waterfall, with someone falling toward the sharp rocks below. A fat spider squatting in the center of a glistening web. A figure in darkness, claw-fingered and stained and more wolf than woman. A forest clearing, with lush green and wildflowers and a single man kneeling in a pool of red. A tall, grinning, golden-haired thing, all teeth and long fingers. A figure that Tim could only barely make out through all the eyes that made it up.

A colorful performer poised on a stage before an audience of one, bloodied knife in hand, wearing a shorn-off face like a carnival mask.

Bile rose in Tim’s throat. Dimly he could feel Sasha’s nails digging into his arm; she must have seen it too.

“Which way to the amphitheatre?” he asked.

“The path is marked by snapdragons in pink and red,” Angela replied. “You can’t miss them—the troupe master wants to be found.”

“Good luck,” Elias Bouchard said. “Do try to stay dry.”

They were still in one piece when they left the cabin. Tim hadn’t let go of Sasha’s hand once, and he wasn’t about to stop now. Not a stone’s throw from Angela’s front door, a single red snapdragon stood out amid the greenery like a drop of blood.

“Tim?” Sasha asked, still looking back at the hut. “What—?”

“We have to get back,” Tim said, already looking for the next flower. “It’s our only shot at getting out. Don’t stop, don’t let go of my hand. Just keep moving.”

She pursed her lips, as if physically holding back the questions he knew she wanted to ask. Wordlessly she nodded, and the two of them took off into the shadowed woodlands.

* * *

It wasn’t until they had retraced their steps once, twice, and three times that Gerard finally broke the silence.

“Rain’s stopped.”

“Has it?”

It might have been snide; obviously it wasn’t raining anymore. But in that moment, Martin sounded more thoughtful than anything else, with an extra little tinge of grim for flavor. A moment later, the reason and meaning became clear: Gerard brushed up against an ivy-swaddled bush by accident, and when his hand went to his cloak—

“Everything’s dry,” he went on, with a careful glance at Martin. “The ground, the bushes. Everything.”

“Yep.”

Had it stopped? Or had it been raining at all?

Gerard didn’t need his patron breathing down his neck to answer that, but it certainly didn’t hurt.

“So we’re not in the Verdant Expanse anymore.”

“Yes, _thank you,_ Gerard, I noticed.”

And there was the snide.

“Just making sure we’re on the same page,” Gerard answered. “What do we think? Creepy theatre in the woods had a portal to the Feywild, something chased us through?”

“Seems like a safe bet.” Martin froze for a moment, stiffening at some sound or other, before finally relaxing and moving forward again. “Whatever roared. Could’ve been a beast as big as it sounded, or just a good mimic.”

“Yeah, that’s the trouble with fey,” Gerard said, nodding. “Why us, though?”

“I—gods, I don’t _know_.” Martin’s voice cracked. He had his axe in hand, white-knuckled grip strangling the haft. “How am I supposed to know that? Why do the fey do anything?”

Gerard’s heart sank. Martin was close to panicking, and he hated it when people panicked. It was hard enough getting to listen when they were calm. “Depends,” he answered, hoping the truth wouldn’t make things worse. “Sometimes politics, sometimes laughs.”

“Does knowing that help us?”

“Guess it might not,” Gerard admitted, grimacing slightly. “Fiends are almost easier to deal with. At least you know they’re evil. Fey, they live for the chaos.”

“Right, great,” Martin muttered. He took a deep breath, and the twisting threat of panic seemed to leave him at last. “Then let’s just—the sooner we find the others, the sooner we can go back and get out of here.” Another sigh. “And hope like hell we can get the horses back.”

“Fair enough.” Gerard fell in step with him, scanning the forest around them. “Would be easier if our tracker didn’t run off, too.” He tilted his head toward Martin again. “Don’t suppose you could ask your god for directions? Knowing Mistress might be helpful at a time like this.”

Martin sighed again. “No, I can’t. I haven’t been a cleric long enough to cast that kind of spell.”

“Damn.”

“Best I can do is pick a direction and ask if good things or bad things will happen if I take it.”

Gerard gave the surrounding trees another once-over. “And… how many times can you do that?”

Martin scowled. “I’m not gonna use up all my spells playing hot-and-cold.”

“Hm. Probably for the best.”

Silence lapsed between them. They continued to search for any sign of Tim and Sasha, but the forest seemed equally thick and tangled no matter where they turned.

“It’s a mixed bag, with my patron,” Gerard said at last. “I get feelings, mostly. If I’m about to run into trouble.” He glanced at Martin again, and found his face carefully blank. “I can’t really ask it anything. Sometimes it’ll tell me things, but. It’s usually sort of random. Not always helpful, or relevant.”

Martin’s head jerked up at this. “You—your patron talks to you?” he asked sharply.

“Not in the way you’re probably thinking,” Gerard answered. “Once in a while, a bit of knowledge will just—pop into my head. Something I have no way of knowing. Like—remember Erin, that mapmaker in Kymal? The first map she ever drew was of the Wildwood Valley when she was sixteen. She didn’t tell me that, it just came to me when I was looking for her. I just Knew.”

The look that Martin gave him was hard to read, so Gerard settled for calling it ‘wary’. “Have you ever Known anything about me?” Martin asked.

“Not yet,” Gerard said truthfully. “I Know a couple things about the others.” Tim had a younger brother, years dead and buried. Sasha learned her tricks and sleight of hand not for greed but curiosity, ever hungry for knowledge. The Ceaseless Watcher would like her.

“Don’t tell me,” Martin warned.

“Wasn’t going to.”

He thought that was the end of it, that the silence would take over again until he lurched awkwardly into another question-and-answer session. But then Martin sighed, wrung his hands, and asked, “Do you, er, Know anything right now? About this?”

“No,” Gerard replied carefully. “Like I said, it’s not exactly reliable. Or… helpful. And when I said I know a couple of things about them, where they are isn’t one of them.”

“Right. D’you _feel_ anything, then?”

“Hmm.” The air practically buzzed with magic of no discernible school, which made sense, considering where they probably were. Not a moment went by that he didn’t hear something in the bushes, or in the shadows beyond his range of vision. They were in the Feywild, and that brought with it a whole _bouquet_ of things to feel. And, as always, his patron’s attention remained a steady weight on the back of his neck.

Martin was still looking expectantly at him.

“Bit itchy,” he said.

“Itchy,” Martin said dubiously.

“Like I said.” Gerard shrugged. “Not always reliable.”

Without warning, the Watcher’s gaze flared hot and bright on his skin, lighting up every nerve with alarm. His head turned as if moved by invisible hands, just in time to see a small, hooded figure hurtling from the shadows, heading straight for Martin’s unprotected back. Gerard had his sword drawn and between them before the half-hidden fey reached its target.

The blade met resistance, but not much—leather armor, most likely. The fey drew back with a hiss, its gray face twisted in a snarl of pain. There was blood on Gerard’s sword, dripping into the loam at their feet.

The creature recovered, and the dagger left its hand in a flash. Gerard had a split second to worry before it clanged off of Martin’s axe blade and went spinning into the bushes.

“Wow, that thing really hates you, doesn’t it?” Gerard remarked.

Martin scoffed something under his breath, and a gout of green flame descended on the thing. In an instant it was bathed in radiance, and the creature ran shrieking back into the darkness.

For a moment it was silent again, but the warning prickle on the back of his neck remained. Gerard lowered his sword but did not sheathe it.

A dancing light bloomed in the air by Martin’s head, hovering like a lantern. Without a word, Martin stepped into the thicker undergrowth where the dagger had gone, returning moments later holding it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger.

“Did you… want to keep that?” Gerard asked doubtfully.

“If I’m carrying it then no one can try and stab me with it again,” Martin said dryly.

“Good point. Can I have a look?”

Martin frowned. “Why?”

“Because darklings aren’t stupid,” Gerard told him. “And there’s no reason why it would’ve thrown itself at you with that sewing needle unless it really thought it could do some damage.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Martin passed it to him. Gerard took it by the handle and, with the utmost care, drew his fingertip along the groove in the blade. It came back wet, though not with blood.

“Blade’s coated in—” It came to him. “Fuck. That’s silverpoint poison. Nasty stuff—little bastard really wanted you dead. Still want this?”

Martin took it back without a word, wrapped it carefully, and stowed it in his pouch. Without waiting for permission, he took Gerry’s hand and cast a spell that cleaned the traces of poison from his fingertips.

At his side, the dancing light flickered.

“You’ll want to keep that light going,” Gerard told him, awkwardly taking his hand back. “Darklings don’t usually hunt alone. If there are others, the light should keep them away.” He glanced around, glaring at the surrounding undergrowth. “In the meantime, we need to keep moving. The longer we stand here, the more of ‘em might show up.”

Martin’s brow furrowed in thought. “I thought darklings only lived in, in caves and things. Underground.”

“They pop up in forests, too. Thick canopies, you know. Are you coming?”

Martin moved to catch up. “Which way are we going?”

“Pretty sure this is the way we came,” Gerard answered. He cast a glance at the sky. It was hard to say for sure; the stars looked different in the Feywild. “Best guess, anyhow. And it’s better than sitting around with our thumbs up our arses.”

“Sure,” Martin murmured.

They moved on through the woods, as Gerard kept a wary eye on the stars. The woods all looked the same here, even with Martin’s light.

“Did you Know that?” Martin asked, breaking the silence.

“Hm?”

“About the poison.”

“Oh.” Gerard hesitated. “Yeah. Just sort of came to me.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t exact or reliable.”

“Well… I still wouldn’t call it reliable, just because it was helpful just now. And I got some of it on me, so… I figure the Watcher didn’t want me, I dunno, putting my finger in my mouth after I’d just touched it.” The Eye’s gaze grew more pronounced, as if it had heard him invoke it. “Whatever else the thing wants with me, it doesn’t want me dying on it just yet.”

Martin’s face grew pinched for a moment.

“Look, I know how that sounds--”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Gerard said flatly. Martin looked away, but Gerard caught the frown on his face just in time. He knew disapproval when he saw it.

He shouldn’t let it get to him. He was used to people being openly hostile, and at least Martin seemed to be trying to tamp it down. That was better, wasn’t it?

Hell, at least someone disliked him for something he’d actually done, for once. Wasn’t that a breath of fresh air.

Without warning, Martin thrust his hand out, stopping him.

“What’s the matter?”

“Not feeling anything from your patron?” Martin asked pointedly.

“You could just answer the question without being a dick, you know.”

Martin winced, but kept his hand firmly against Gerard’s chest. The other covered the dancing light at his side, half-hiding it. “There’s a light up ahead. See?”

Gerard looked. Sure enough, with the light dimmed, he could see it flickering like a lamp in a distant window. There was no discernible color; one moment it looked silvery white, the next it was the normal yellow-orange of firelight.

“Could be a good sign,” he offered.

“A light in the distance,” Martin answered. “In the dark. In the middle of the Feywild.”

“I mean…”

“There’s no story that _doesn’t_ end with us drowning in a swamp.”

“Alright, so it’s probably not a good sign,” Gerard conceded. “But it _could_ be, is the thing.” To say the look on Martin’s face was doubtful was putting it mildly. “Look, what other ideas do we have? At least an ominous light in the distance is _something_.”

Martin mulled this over silently. Then uncovering the dancing light, he knelt in the undergrowth. “Keep an eye out, will you?”

“Never stopped. What are you doing?”

From his pouch, Martin withdrew a set of dice. “Seems like a good time to try this.”

To be fair, Gerard did keep watch. The Eye wasn’t about to let him dull his awareness anyway. But he couldn’t help but watch out of the corner of his eye as Martin carried out his ritual. It wasn’t often that he got the opportunity to see a proper cleric at work; not like Mum had ever allowed holy warriors anywhere near her.

As Martin cast his dice into the dirt, Gerard felt the Watcher’s gaze intensify and sharpen, as if echoing his own interest. The weight of it became an almost physical press, and he shifted uncomfortably beneath it. He wondered if this was the otherworldly-patron equivalent of pricking its ears, like a wolf sighting prey.

 _No,_ he thought, just in case it was. _Whatever you’re thinking, no. Not him or anyone else._

“Well?” he asked.

“Three ones and one six,” Martin said grimly. “It’s mostly bad up ahead, but there’s a little bit of good.”

“And is that… encouraging?”

Martin gathered his dice up and rose to his feet. “I used that spell to decide which road to take at the crossroads.” he answered. “I got an even split on the path past Kymal, and that’s why we met you.”

Gerard pursed his lips, not entirely sure what to do with that. “Could you ask her what happens if we _don’t_ go this way?”

Martin stared at him for a moment. Without another word, he knelt and cast it a second time. In the light of Martin’s cantrip, Gerard could see four ones.

“Well then,” Martin said, putting away his dice. “Guess we’ll just have to watch out for swamps.”

Against all odds, the distant light didn’t move further away the closer they got. With each step it grew and grew, closer and closer still, until it was bright and close enough for Gerard to make out the surrounding trees. The place was familiar, he realized dimly. They were approaching the hollow.

And with it—

“Ohh, I don’t like this,” Martin muttered, so softly that Gerard almost didn’t hear him over the distant chatter of many voices. The closer they came, the more he could properly identify.

Happy, jubilant, excited voices rang out, coupled with jaunty, upbeat music. Someone roared out, and several applauded. A drum beat rapidly, leading into a brief lull in the music and voices, until it broke into cheers and whistling and wild laughter a moment later.

The stone wall stood just ahead, pristine and unbroken. Streamers, garlands, and strings of multicolored lights festooned the wall from one end to the other, framing the gateway that led down to the amphitheater. Gerard made it as far as the wall before the Eye’s burning gaze forced him to stop.

The seats were packed with spectators, crowded and squashed in, jostling each other, some of them standing up or perched on the benches for a better view. At the bottom, the circular stage was alive with performers in bright costumes, makeup shining and colorful beneath the floating lights that lit the scene. One of them was clearly the lead, with the brightest costume and the wildest dance and the loudest voice, green skin peeking through shining scarlet makeup.

It was everything that the amphitheater's counterpart in the material plane had not been: a bright, cheery spectacle, full of light and color and wild, captivating music. Gerard glanced down and found his foot tapping along as if of its own accord. That was probably a bad sign, but the realization felt somehow distant. Something tickled at the back of his neck, and he brushed at it absently to dispel the feeling.

Anyway, his foot wasn’t very interesting, not when there was an entire theater troupe performing down there. The stands looked packed, but something told Gerard that if he looked, he would find an open seat just big enough to hold him.

Actually—there. He could see one. Two, in fact. One for him and one for Martin. They couldn’t have planned this more perfectly.

The tickle became a proper, familiar pressure, heavy and insistent. He shook his head, distracted, and his eyes burned in the bright lights. Reflexive tears welled up, turning the spectacle before him into a mess of running colors, like a painting left out in the rain.

Rain. It was supposed to be raining, he remembered. When was it raining? He rubbed his eyes, abruptly aware of a growing headache, and the sight before him cleared.

…Did the lead performer’s makeup always look like? It had been red before, bright scarlet and shining as if freshly wet. It had darkened over the past minute, as if congealing, drying into a cracking brownish crust. He looked to the faces of the other performers, and—odd. They didn’t look much like faces, which didn’t make much sense. They had eyes and mouths and noses and ears, skin and cheekbones and eyebrows, like any proper face ought to have.

All the pieces were there, but that didn’t mean they came together right.

Pressure against his wrist made Gerard turn his head. His bleary eyes were slow to focus, but eventually Martin’s face settled in front of him.

“The audience,” he said. “Look at the audience.”

A little voice in his head wondered why he should look at the audience when the real spectacle was happening onstage. The Watcher’s gaze pierced like a blade through his skull, digging through the thoughts in his head until it rooted out the little voice that didn’t belong, and it withered beneath the glare.

Gerard looked at the audience. He took in the angry lines scored down their faces, the matching bloody fingernails, the stitches holding their smiles in place, the unspoken pleas in their streaming eyes. Some of them laughed through throats that bled. Some of them couldn’t stand, trapped as their own seats grew around them, over them, into them.

Some of them, he noted grimly, were familiar.

He looked to the stage again, and found the lead performer looking back, painted face cracking in a smile wide enough to reach them. An alien joy bloomed within him, overtaking his everything else. She smiled, pointing at them with her dripping baton, eyes lighting up in welcome.

“ _There you are_ _,_ ” she sang out, and his mind drowned.

It wasn’t like drowning in water or acid—the cold or burning would have shocked him awake. Instead, his thoughts struggled to swim through sludge as thick and cloying as honey. Sensations came to him in broken, disjointed segments, failing to coalesce into a clear picture. He fought to string words together in his mind, but the mess of light and color wouldn’t let him.

While his mind was distracted, his feet carried him forward a step.

And of course, the Watcher wouldn’t have it.

Awareness lit him up from within. The Watcher’s gaze burned through the tar pit that had swallowed his mind, plunging beneath the depths like a reaching hand. Gerard reached back blindly, took it, and let his patron pull him free.

The blood-strewn amphitheater lay before them, lights blinding and painful. Beside him, a glassy-eyed Martin took another step forward into the stands.

He didn’t think. Thinking took too much time. Martin struggled when Gerard grabbed him, but it was weak and halfhearted, and Gerard wasn’t about to waste more time being delicate. He dug his fingers deep, mentally apologizing for the future bruises, and bodily dragged Martin away from the amphitheater.

With the Watcher screaming danger over his shoulder, Gerard half expected the troupe to give chase. But as he ran through the hollow—and as Martin gradually stopped dragging and started running with him—no footsteps or voices followed them. The lyrical voice of the lead performer did not ring out a second time. If she called out again, it was lost in the rest of the performance’s cacophony.

Shapes came stumbling from the bushes. Gerard’s sword was halfway out of the scabbard when he recognized Tim and Sasha’s wide-eyed faces.

“There you are!” Sasha cried out. “We saw the light and…” Her voice trailed off. “Um. What exactly is that?”

“You don’t—” Martin gagged. “You don’t want to know.”

Tim was staring past them, over their shoulders to the brightly-lit and rowdy amphitheater. The color drained from his face as the performance went on merrily, still so very, very close.

The itch of wild magic built until Gerard’s veins buzzed with it, until he longed to crawl out of his own skin. Gods, but he hated to ask for things. Every favor dug him ever deeper into his debt, and brought him closer and closer to the day his patron finally asked for payment.

But everywhere he turned were people three steps from damnation, and so he asked.

 _Help me._ _Get_ _us_ _out._

Once more, as always, the Watcher pointed the way.

* * *

There was no warning. One moment the hollow was dry and brightly lit with distant celebration, and the next, it was dark and pouring rain. In seconds Sasha was drenched again.

She opened her mouth to ask the obvious question, but the others barely slowed down at the change. She considered asking anyway, but all it took was one look at Tim’s face to decide against it.

Tim took the lead again, and Gerard dropped back without a word of protest. Sasha didn’t know how he did it; she was half-blind in the rain, and everything looked the same anyway. But he walked with steady confidence, even as his hands shook—with cold or something else, Sasha couldn’t tell.

Halfway to the road, they found the horses. All three of them were together, reins clumsily lashed to the tree they stood under for shelter from the rain. Wet and miserable and still laden with their supplies, they huddled beneath the scant cover and milled around nervously as best they could while tethered.

Sasha could no longer contain herself. “I don’t get it,” she blurted out, breaking the silence at last. “How did this happen? Who…?”

Tim was circling around the surrounding area, inspecting the rain-soaked ground with eyes spelled to see in the dark. “For once, the rain’s helpful,” he answered dully, kicking at the mud. “Ground’s wet and soft, and the tracks are deep.”

“What do you see?” Martin asked.

“Horse tracks. Lots of them.” Tim shook his head. “A lot more than three sets, that’s for sure. Rentoul and his buddies must’ve rounded up our horses and left them here to chase us down.”

Her heart leapt to her throat. “They followed us off the road?” Tim grimaced as he nodded.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Gerard.

“Why not?” Sasha gritted out.

With a few quick tugs, Gerard freed his horse’s reins from the branch. “I saw some of them in the amphitheater.”

Sasha gaped at him. “We just left it! How is that supposed to make me worry less?”

“Not that amphitheater,” Gerard replied, and said no more about it.

The conversation withered from there. In grim silence beneath the heavy press of rein, the four of them swung into wet saddles and rode off, back to the road, out of the pitch-dark forest toward the clearer air of the open plains.

* * *

Most birds tended to avoid heavy rain as a general rule, and ravens were no exception. But the Raven Queen’s work was never done, and thus her servants were always busy.

The man who currently went by Blake stood in a hollow, about a quarter-mile off the road that passed through the Verdant Expanse. Not a stone’s throw away from a cracked and crumbling outdoor stage, a portal shimmered, just barely visible in the rain-soaked darkness.

He hesitated, of course. He wasn’t heartless. Not everyone who had passed through had come out again. But four of them had, and those that remained were those that hunted them.

For petty reasons, no less. Petty, greedy reasons that had no business adding to the tangle that he already had to deal with.

Best to simplify things, whenever possible. There were other ways to make one’s way out of the Feywild. This would hardly be a death sentence.

A death sentence would probably be kinder. But his mistress was not always kind. Just inevitable.

With a delicate touch, he took the doorway between his hands and pressed it shut.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time the rain eased and the clouds began to clear, the faint light of dawn was already snaking over the horizon in thin wisps of orange and deep purple. All four of them were shivering in their saddles, cloaks and coats long soaked through.

Gerard wasn’t sure who spotted the barn first. It wasn’t hard to make out, standing on its own just off the main road. There were no signs of life within or around it—no nearby farmhouses, fields, or villages gave any indication that the barn was in use.

Without a word of discussion, the four of them turned off the road and headed straight for it.

Once inside, the effect was immediate. There were spots where the roof leaked, but it was far drier and warmer inside than outside. After the night they’d just had, no one was going to be picky about this.

Wet layers were peeled off and draped on old hay bales and jutting nails in the walls to dry. Tim and Martin tended to the horses together, unloading them and rubbing them down as best they could. Sasha spent cantrip after cantrip drying off everything that sat still enough for her magic to take hold. With nothing else to do, Gerard gathered up enough dry straw and kindling to get a small fire going, then sifted through their supplies to judge the damage. Some of the food was completely unsalvageable—they’d have to restock soon. As his eyes drooped with exhaustion, he sorted out the things the rain had spoiled and repacked the rest. Then, braving the rain again, he went out to cast an alarm spell around the entire barn.

Eventually, exhausted, the four of them collapsed for the night in the hay. Gerard was asleep the moment he closed his eyes.

It would have been nice to have a night without any dreams. But no, that kind of luck wasn’t for Gerard Keay. His dreams took him back to his mother’s library, back to books and dust and decay and the ever-present rusty smell of old blood. He dreamed of her hand on his chin, holding him in place, forcing him to look her in the eye as her nails brushed the skin of his throat.

He hated coming here in dreams. The books never let him put them down, much less take a torch to them.

“Come home,” the image of his mother told him, cooing with a mockery of affection. “You have to come home eventually. I can do this forever. Can you?”

He gritted his teeth and turned another warm, damp page. Her nails scratched along his jaw, keeping his gaze fixed on the page, even as the words twisted themselves into knots.

Something else looked on, unseen and omnipresent. Gerard was certain that if he only turned his head, he would see whatever was watching him so intently. Because it was everywhere, all around him, so deeply woven into his nightmares as to be inescapable. It watched as the book squished wetly in his hands, as the pages pulsed with veins of fresh blood, as his mother whispered her promises over his shoulder. Just as it did every night.

It was almost a comfort, really. He never did like being alone with Mum.

* * *

When Sasha woke, the cool light of midmorning was streaming through the cracks in the barn doors, in the roof, and in the walls where wood had warped out of shape. She felt comfortably refreshed, which was especially strange since, when she’d fallen asleep the night before, there hadn’t been a single part of her body that wasn’t sticky, sore, or some combination of both.

That was when she registered the song, drifting through the air in a familiar voice and pitch.

The morning she’d first woken to the sound of Martin singing felt like ages ago, so brief and strange that sometimes she thought it had to be a fluke or even a dream. But now, as she opened her eyes and slowly sat up—wincing over stiff, sore muscles—she was hearing it again.

It wasn’t one that Sasha recognized, and with Martin sitting all the way over by the barn doors with his face turned away, she couldn’t make out the words. But it was nice, and his voice was gentle and mellow and sweet, and Sasha could swear her stiffness was fading away as she listened. Even Martin himself looked relaxed; his shoulders were loosely bowed, and he was idly flipping something between his fingers. It took a moment for Sasha to recognize his little rune-covered Message stone.

She looked to the others and found Tim stirring and Gerry already awake, leaning up against the saddlebag he’d fallen asleep on. He was staring fixedly at the back of Martin’s head, as if Martin’s singing was a new piece to a puzzle he was trying to solve, only breaking when he saw Sasha looking at him. His eyebrows rose with a silent question, but all Sasha could do was shrug.

The singing paused as Martin breathed between verses, and Tim sat up to break the silence. “Didn’t know you sang. You’re not half bad.”

Martin startled like a rabbit, whipping around to stare at them with wide eyes. “Wh—oh.” A look of dismay crossed his face. “How—how long have you been awake?”

“Just woke up,” said Tim. “Sorry for scaring you—you don’t have to stop, you know.”

“I—no, sorry I just—if I woke you, or if I was disturbing you or…”

“Martin, it’s fine,” Tim began, but Martin shrugged off the reassurance, and Sasha knew with no small amount of disappointment that Martin wasn’t going to be singing anymore that morning. She shot Tim a quick glare, and he winced in silent apology.

With everyone awake and no more singing to be had, they set about checking the damage from the rain. Sasha had done her best on the previous night, but a few of their things were hopelessly filthy. Gerard busied himself double-checking the food that needed to be thrown out. It wasn’t a lot, exactly, but it was still enough to be worrying.

Still, they scraped together a meager breakfast, and on an unspoken agreement, put music out of their minds and collectively turned to the elephant in the room.

“So,” Tim said, breaking the silence again. “That was the Feywild.”

Sasha choked on a piece of dried venison.

“That was the Feywild,” Martin agreed.

“That was absolutely the Feywild, and we probably shouldn’t have gotten out of there alive,” said Gerard.

“Pretty sure we almost didn’t,” Martin muttered.

It wasn’t that Sasha hadn’t known, exactly. As soon as she heard the music from the amphitheater and saw the look on Tim’s face, she’d managed to put two and two together, more or less. But in the face of the others’ stony nonchalance, she still felt three steps behind.

“How’d things go for you two?” Gerard asked. “Martin and I almost got dragged into a nightmare theatre.”

Sasha was sitting close enough to Tim to feel him tense. Cautiously she let her tail drape over his arm, and the tightness eased ever so slightly.

“Maybe we should trade stories,” she suggested, with a worried glance at Tim. “We can go first.”

Haltingly, she described the events of the previous night—from the green hag’s attack to the strange hut in the woods and its occupants. Tim chipped in from time to time, but for the most part he left the storytelling to her.

“Wait,” Martin broke in. “ _Elias Bouchard_ was there? You’re sure?”

“Couldn’t miss him,” Sasha answered. “It’s not every day you meet the archmage of Tal’Dorei, especially in a place like that. He seemed pretty friendly with that Angela woman, whoever—or whatever—she was.”

“Probably an Archfey,” said Gerard. “If someone like Bouchard was parleying with her.”

Martin glanced at him, frowning. “You know him?”

“Met him once, years ago,” Gerard answered. He hesitated. “I was a kid back then. My mum kept weird company.” Martin’s frown only deepened at this. “I don’t know much about him as an archmage. But my Mum had him over for tea at least once, probably more, and that’s the sort of person who wouldn’t bother being polite to anything less than an Archfey.”

“Right,” Sasha said uncertainly. “She known for her tea parties, your mum?”

Gerard grimaced and didn’t reply. She remembered their conversation from before—just yesterday, in fact. He was running from something. She could only assume this was related.

“Whatever he was there for, it wasn’t good,” Martin said, shocking Sasha with the level of venom in his voice. “And the fact that—that _he’s_ making nice with an _Archfey_ —”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a second,” said Tim. “This isn’t some dark wizard looming from the shadows—Bouchard’s the highest-ranked mage in the whole realm.”

“I know who he is!” Martin retorted. “Wait—did you talk to him?”

He’d flipped so abruptly from angry to fearful that it left Sasha appropriately rattled. “No, not really. We were mostly just surprised to see him.”

Martin’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Good. You can’t trust him. And if, somehow, you ever see him again, don’t talk to him, don’t listen to him, just—turn and walk the other way.”

“Alright,” Tim said hesitantly. “Um… this is a weird question but… Martin, you don’t know the archmage of Tal’Dorei, do you?”

“I…” Martin hesitated, fussing with his scarf. “I’ve known people who worked for him. And I’ve met him before. Just trust me on this one thing, alright?”

“Alright, Martin,” Sasha said cautiously. “A-anyway, that’s about what happened. We saw—um.” She shot a glance at Tim. “Saw some creepy stuff hung up on her walls, but other than that she was… pleasant? She gave us directions back to the amphitheater, and we left.” She swallowed hard. “I take it we were pretty lucky to get out of that in one piece.”

“Always good to assume that,” said Gerard. “Keeps you humble.”

His and Martin’s story was equally strange. The darkling ate at her—it had come that close to killing Martin, and neither she nor Tim had been anywhere near them. It shouldn’t have bothered her that much, not like she and Tim made bodyguarding their career. But it wasn’t nice to think about, all the same.

And then, the theatre. Gerard took over for this part of the story, with Martin sullenly quiet and listening. Sasha couldn’t help but watch Tim’s face as the description went on. With every word, his frown lines deepened, and his spine became a tight curve beneath her hand.

Gerard’s eyes kept flicking back to him, calm and knowing even as Tim struggled with himself. For a while Sasha thought he might let it slide, but in the end, he gave them a moment to process his story before speaking again.

“You’ve met them before, I take it.”

If Tim were a dog, his hackles would be up. “That obvious?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Does it matter?”

“I dunno, does it?”

Martin shot him a warning glare, though whether or not Gerard actually saw it was anyone’s guess. Martin’s face softened when he turned back to Tim, though there was something sharp and probing in his eyes in the moments before he spoke.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “If you want to leave it at that, I won’t ask.”

“Good,” Tim snapped. “Great. Thanks. Keep doing that.” He stood up, grabbed his things, and went to finish loading up the horses without another word.

With a helpless glance at the others, Sasha went after him.

“Tim—”

“Don’t,” he said quietly, as he tightened a strap into place. “Just—please? Not now. Just don’t.”

Sasha chewed on her lip, casting another worried glance back at the remainder of their party. Martin was already following Tim’s example, gathering up the last of his things and making the final preparations for travel. Gerard was left standing in the middle of the barn, hands wringing at his sides. They were still close enough to hear. Until that changed, trying to get Tim to talk was useless. “I won’t talk about—about _that_ ,” she said. “But we might not be out of the woods yet, with Rentoul. If they’re still after us—”

“They’re not.”

Sasha jumped, barely biting back a noise of alarm. She hadn’t heard Gerard approach at all. Was he that quiet, or was she that tired? “What?”

She could sense Tim glaring over her shoulder, but Gerard didn’t seem to notice. “I told you, the night before,” he said calmly. “I saw them. Some of them, at least. A couple of faces from the village, plus a few others who looked like they might be with them. They were in the amphitheater.”

Her confusion turned to a sinking feeling in her gut. “You mean…”

He looked grim. “I’d say we’ve got a reasonable head start.”

Sasha looked instinctively to Tim, who had turned back to the saddlebags in front of him. There wasn’t much else to be done with them, but Tim managed to look busy anyway.

“Just in case you were still worried,” Gerard added.

“Right, right,” Sasha said shakily. “Um. Thank you.”

Sure enough, when the four of them set off again under the late morning sun, the skies were clear before them and behind. As the hours passed, Sasha kept looking over her shoulder, but there was never any sign that they were being followed.

There must have been dozens of people in their wake, to kick up as much dust as they’d seen. And now there was nothing at all.

* * *

They continued east over the plains, leaving the edge of the Verdant Expanse behind them. Over the next few days, the group was quiet—not quite tense, but balanced right at the edge. They made progress: broke camp, traveled through the day, then set up camp and rotated sentry duty throughout the night; and that was it. The hours passed in grim silence. The forest grew smaller and smaller in their wake, but still the Feywild loomed large at their backs.

And then the path dipped southward, into the Daggerbay mountain range, and as evening on the third day fell, they reached the walls of the Emerald Outpost.

For her part, Sasha could only feel immense relief at the sight of civilization. The deepest sleep she’d had since the Feywild was that exhausted, wet morning in the abandoned old barn. She was sore and stiff and vaguely itchy, and a town on the horizon meant the possibility of a bath and a bed.

She’d almost been eaten by a ghost in Kymal, and _gods_ had she been missing Kymal.

Though…

“That’s a town?” she blurted out as they approached. “That looks more like a fort to me.”

Martin, who was a few paces ahead of her, sat up a little straighter in his saddle. “Oh, that’s because it is,” he said. “Or at least, it started off as one. It was built as a garrison centuries ago before the Scattered War—” He seemed to catch himself. “Um. Well. There’s loads of history behind it, but basically it was built as a sort of hidden military outpost so the elves could keep an eye on growing threats from their enemies, and after the war ended it sort of fell out of use. So now it’s kind of a neutral city between Syngorn and Emon—well, the whole Tal’Dorei realm, really—so, er, that’s why it’s called the Emerald Outpost.”

“Got it,” Sasha said with a nod. “Wait, that explains the outpost bit, but what about the emerald?”

“Elves like green,” said Gerard. One of these days, Sasha would stop jumping every time he spoke.

“I… guess that makes sense?” she hedged, not sure if he was pulling her leg.

“That’s _part_ of it,” Martin said grudgingly. “But there’s a whole history behind it!”

“Yep.” Gerard popped the ‘p’. “An entire lengthy history that boils down to, ‘Elves live in forest, forest is full of trees, trees turn green in summer—”

Martin glared at him. “That’s oversimplifying it. There’s _symbolism._ ”

“Oh, yes, symbolism. The green symbolizes leaves, you see.”

“Are we stopping here?” Tim broke in before it could grow into a full-blown argument. Sasha was almost sorry to miss it.

Martin blinked at him, confused, before apparently remembering that he was in the one in charge of this trip. “Oh, uh, yeah. It’s late enough.”

“Right.” Tim kicked their horse into a trot. “Let’s get a move on, then. Hopefully this town’s lighter on the undead than the last one.”

Martin kept pace with them, and Gerard pulled his hood up over his head as he followed. The front wall to the outpost loomed before them, and the gate stood open.

Already, the town before them looked a lot more promising than the last. Through the open gates, Sasha could see well-lit streets with guards posted out front, nothing like the darkened ghost town that Kymal had been. It was smaller, of course, being a former garrison apparently, but it was altogether more welcoming than anywhere else they’d stopped since leaving Westruun.

Slowly, in increments, Sasha let herself relax. At least for a night, they could rest—all of them, in rooms with locks, instead of out on the plains with one eye open and alarm spells strung around their campsites.

With a quiet sigh, she let her forehead rest between Tim’s shoulder blades. He reached back and squeezed her hand.

The gate sentries were an oddly mismatched pair: an elven man and a human woman, both of them in different sets of armor. The human had the crest of Tal’Dorei emblazoned on her breastplate, while the elf’s armor was lighter, and Sasha didn’t recognize the tree-and-moon crest but assumed it must be Syngorn’s.

“Anything to declare?” the human called out as they approached.

“We’re just passing through,” Martin replied. “We’re on our way to Emon.”

The human’s eyes narrowed, and the amulet at her throat glinted in a way that wasn’t quite natural. Sasha couldn’t tell exactly what it was from the distance, but given the context, it was probably something that sharpened the wearer’s insight. The elf raised a hand, and a gentle wash of magic set their own enchanted items aglow. Curiosity drew Sasha’s eyes toward each point of light. Hers and Tim’s she already knew. Martin had his usual divine accouterments, plus the memory stone in his pouch. Gerard had an amulet of his own, if the glow beneath his collar was any indication. Sasha wondered what it was.

Now wasn’t the best time, though. Poor thing looked like he wanted to shrink into his own cloak.

Apparently finding nothing amiss, the guards gave them one more quick once-over before waving them through. Sasha kept an eye on Gerard, and watched his tension persist even after they were through the gates.

The Emerald Outpost was about as bustling as a town its size could possibly be. It was small, obviously, as constrained as it was by its four outer walls. The central keep was still intact, as well as a few buildings that looked like barracks, and from the bones of the garrison it had once been, a proper town had grown. Tal’Dorei styles and colors mingled with those of Syngorn; between the architecture and the two cultures patchworked together, the whole place was delightfully mismatched.

Most of the town was dominated by a massive central market, now lit for the evening with lanterns strung over the stalls. Sasha leaned out of the saddle for a better view, one hand on Tim’s shoulder to steady herself. Business seemed to be winding down for the night; shame they couldn’t stay longer.

“The Outpost’s mostly for trade and diplomacy nowadays,” she heard Martin say.

One of the boxy military structures still stood intact, with an attached stables that looked a lot newer. A sign hanging over the entrance read, appropriately, ‘The Barracks’. Sasha couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose at that; soldiers’ quarters, converted to a kitschy little inn. She almost loved it.

Night had fully fallen by the time they got their horses stabled and went in to see about lodging for the night. Thankfully, there was no fuss over vacancies this time. There were two rooms available, and as soon as they were paid for, Sasha took one of the offered keys.

“How should we split?” she asked. “Martin, you could go with Tim?”

It wouldn’t have been her first choice, to be honest. Instinct wanted her with Tim, just Tim, but they had a job to do. They’d already risked Martin’s neck twice, once in Kymal and again in the Verdant Expanse. With the extra traveling companion…

Martin’s eyes were on her, searching her face as if he somehow knew what was going on in her head. The scrutiny would have made her fidgety from anyone; from a cleric devoted to the Knowing Mistress, it was downright worrying.

“Actually,” he said carefully. “I was thinking you and Tim could take a room.”

“You’re sure?” Tim asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re the one who hired us as bodyguards,” Sasha pointed out, a bit reluctantly. It wasn’t like she _wanted_ to argue with him on this.

“Well, yeah, for the road,” said Martin. “But tonight we’ll be in an inn, with doors that lock from the inside, in a town built out of a military garrison. I think we’ll be fine until morning.”

Without thinking, Sasha looked to Gerard, who seemed just as taken aback as she was.

“You’re absolutely sure about that?” she asked anyway, turning back to Martin. As far as she knew, this was asking for trouble; Martin and Gerard hadn’t exactly hit it off when Gerard first joined them, and they hadn’t grown any chummier over the last few days, either.

But they’d made it through the Feywild together. That was something. Maybe they’d just bonded without Sasha noticing anything. Or—no, wait, Gerard was surprised, too. So maybe Martin was coming around?

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Martin asked again, as if he hadn’t spent the past how-many-days bristling every time someone reminded him there was a warlock around. She stared at him, willing it to sink in, and he returned her stare with a bland sort of stubbornness that she couldn’t find a way through.

“Um,” the warlock in question spoke up. Sasha looked over to find him standing next to Tim, sort of hunched over like he was trying to shrink down and hide behind him. “Look, I’m fine wherever, if we could just… stop standing here, and go.”

Sasha mentally threw her hands up. “Right then. Come on, Tim.”

It wasn’t until they were in the room with their door closed that Tim sank down onto the nearest bed and ran his hands through his hair. The latter was easier said than done; his hair was hopelessly tangled, and his fingers got caught and yanked until Sasha gently worked them free. They sat together in silence, side by side and alone for the first time since the Feywild.

After a while, Tim took a deep breath and let it out again. “I,” he said, “am covered in muck.”

“Gods, you stink,” Sasha agreed, and was rewarded when he knocked their shoulders together. He didn’t laugh, but when he raised his head to meet her eyes again, a little bit of the opaque fog had finally lifted. “Are you…?” She paused. “How’re you holding up?”

“Dunno,” he said. Then, “Bad. Nice to be somewhere, you know. Quiet.”

For the past few days, they’d hardly spoken among themselves except to call a halt, break and set up camp, or rouse one another for watch duty. By rights, Sasha should have had her fill of quiet. But there was a great deal of difference between that thick, clinging, oppressive silence from before, and the calm quiet now. It was proper privacy, loosening tension, and welcome relief.

“Feels like we haven’t had a moment to ourselves since Westruun,” she murmured. “It’s got me wondering if we won’t have another until Vasselheim.”

“Nature of the job,” Tim said drowsily. “Not much downtime for round-the-clock bodyguards.” After a moment, he sat up straight with a groan. “And, speaking of, we’d probably better check and make sure they haven’t killed each other.”

“Urgh, I hate that you’re right.” Reluctantly, Sasha got back to her feet. “Gods. Any idea what Martin’s issue with Gerard is?”

Tim shrugged as he followed her. “I dunno. Religious differences. Martin gets snippy whenever Gerard brings up his patron. Which I sort of get? I hear it’s risky business, being a warlock. Especially when your patron’s got so many spooky names.”

“Spooky names and threatening eyeball imagery,” Sasha said dryly. “And Martin’s a cleric of Ioun. Maybe he finds it perverse.”

“Could be.” Tim stretched until his shoulders popped. “To be fair, I think Martin’s been a bit easier on him? Or, as easy as any of us were, since… you know, before.”

“Well, Gerard did say he pulled Martin away from the theatre, and Martin didn’t dispute it,” Sasha pointed out. She put her hand on the door, hesitating. “You can stay, if you’re not feeling up to it. I can bring you something later?”

“Nah,” Tim said, stepping up beside her. “I’ll be alright.”

“You don’t look alright.”

“Didn’t say I was,” Tim said with a strained smile. “But I will be. Promise.”

* * *

The door clicked shut, and the noose of tension began to loosen around Gerard’s throat. He spent a moment just breathing in and out, to remind himself that he still could.

This was silly, if he really thought about it. It wasn’t as if he had anything to be genuinely afraid of. The last time he’d set foot in the Emerald Outpost, he’d barely come up to his mother’s waist. And now he was at least twice that height with different hair. Obviously no one was going to recognize him. He hadn’t given his mother’s name as his own since… well, since she died.

Best not to use her name at all, these days. You never knew who might be listening.

His hand strayed to the amulet around his neck, checking to see if it was still there. It was, of course. He’d know if it was gone; either by Mum showing up or by the Watcher taking offense to him losing its gift. Gerard closed his hand around it, fist tightening until the edges dug into his palm.

He was safe. Hidden.

He was also alone, Gerard realized belatedly. He’d been standing in the middle of the room and shoving down a panic attack for well over a full minute, and at some point Martin had left. His pack and cloak were left on one of the beds, claiming it.

With a quiet groan, Gerard dragged a chair over and sank down into it. The silence and solitude pressed in on him, heavier and louder than silence had any business being. This was his first true moment alone since—since _Kymal_ , since he’d set off for the mines of the Ironseat Ridge.

He kind of hated it.

And that was why he turned inward, away from the yawning emptiness that threatened him, and prodded at the Watcher’s tether like a loose tooth. There was no conscious decision; it was automatic, like grabbing for purchase at the start of a fall. As if in answer, the Eye opened, and the Watcher’s gaze beat down on him like naked sunlight. He could _feel_ the thing drinking in his growing fear, his dislike of solitude clashing with the terror of being seen and noticed and recognized.

None of the others knew. If all went well, then they would leave tomorrow without the others ever knowing. But until then, he could only sit on it in silence, with no one to share it but his ever-watchful patron.

“Don’t suppose _you_ know if anyone in town knows me, or Mum,” Gerard muttered, half joking. “I could use the warning.”

He felt the Eye’s gaze sharpen with focus, and shifted uncomfortably beneath the prickling tension.

“It’d only help you if you did,” he pointed out. “Get me nice and scared. Scared of being seen. Having all my—all of _that_ dragged out in front of them. You’re all about that, aren’t you?”

The Eye didn’t answer in any way that mattered.

“D’you have _anything_ for me?”

In response, knowledge uncurled in his mind like the petals of an opening flower. Ever helpful, his patron informed him of the exact number of unmarked graves littered in and around the Emerald Outpost. Enemy dead, mostly, their corpses left to rot when their comrades retreated, buried by the old garrison’s guards not for respect, but to stop them from spreading disease to the living. For a split second, he could almost smell it.

“Charming,” he said acidly, and the door opened.

Martin came in bearing a tray one-handed. Balanced on it was a pair of mugs, both of them steaming gently, along with a jar of honey and a little pitcher of cream.

Startled, Gerard shied away from the connection again, and the prickling on the back of his neck faded. The solitude was gone, but the realization of silence slammed into him mercilessly. “Is this a thing with you, whenever you’re in a new inn?” he blurted out, desperate to fill it. “You go down and inspect the tea service?”

“Just borrowed the kettle,” Martin said gruffly. “Any preferences?”

Gerard blinked. “Not really,” he said. “I’m… not much of a tea drinker.” Which was a kind way of saying that he hated the stuff. Too smoky and bitter for his liking. Why Martin and the others seemed to love it so much, he couldn’t imagine.

Martin squinted at him for a moment, as if he sensed the lie of omission, then shrugged and picked up the pitcher. Carefully he topped the mug up with cream, stirred in a spoonful of honey, and set it on the edge of the table nearest to Gerard before turning to his own cup.

Reluctantly, Gerard took the mug. He only meant to take a polite sip, but the promising smell startled him right before the flavor did.

He must have made a noise or something, because Martin was looking over. As if in response to the sudden scrutiny, the Watcher’s attention briefly returned in full force, only to withdraw again just as quickly. Bewildered, Gerard could only gape at the other man for a moment before taking another sip. This one, he properly savored.

“Huh,” he said, half to himself. “Guess Mum just made shit tea.”

Martin pulled a wry smile as he tucked his scarf under his chin to drink his own. “Yeah, I think I know the feeling.”

Silence reigned again as they sat and drank together. But this time it settled comfortably around Gerard’s shoulders instead of hanging off him like a burden. With nothing else going on, and without the distraction of discomfort gnawing at him, Gerard sat back and really looked at Martin for once.

Martin was… odd, that was one word. Gerard already wasn’t great with people, and Martin was no exception. No amount of staring was going to change that. Even prodding the Eye failed to produce any new information—not even trivial details.

He’d thought he understood him, when the warlock thing came out and he could _see_ the walls rising behind Martin’s eyes. Plenty of people didn’t like him, enough that Gerard was intimately familiar with all the possible reasons why. The fact that he’d willingly tied himself to an entity that thrived on fearful knowledge and awful truth was one of many, and hardly the least of them. It had been disappointing, sure, but familiar, and there was a comfort in that familiarity, in that _predictability_. Martin would avoid him and shun him, maybe make a few snide remarks here and there, but he’d tolerate him as long as he stayed useful and kept his skeletons buried deep in the closet where they belonged.

The tea was a bit of a surprise.

“Well, I’m gonna see about a wash,” said Martin, setting his cup aside. “Then dinner. You coming?”

The thought of venturing downstairs, to a dining hall full of people, local and otherwise, set his stomach turning all over again.

“Think I’ll turn in early,” he said, wrapping his hands around the still-warm mug. “Been a long day.”

“Fair enough,” Martin answered. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Gerard alone with his thoughts and his patron once more.

* * *

When she and Tim joined Martin downstairs, Sasha was surprised to find him alone. “Is Gerard taking a while?” she asked.

“No, he just washed up and said to go down without him,” Martin answered. “Said he was going straight to sleep.”

“Huh. His loss. Does he want anything?”

“He didn’t say,” Martin answered, and didn’t volunteer anything else on the subject. He did, however, wrap up a few rolls from his dinner plate and tuck them away for later.

Sasha, always the pinnacle of kindness and discretion, didn’t comment on it.

* * *

After a hot meal, a proper wash, and a full night’s sleep, Tim woke up at sunrise feeling almost human again.

His dreams had been troubled. He didn’t exactly remember them, and the vague, nauseous tension he woke up with told him he was better off not knowing. The thought of breakfast made his stomach turn, which was never a good sign. They were heading out today, for the last stretch of the journey before Emon. Towns and villages were sparse from here, and this might be his last chance to eat something that wasn’t trail rations.

His head ached and his stomach swam, and the thought of the trail ahead made him want to crawl back under the covers until it stopped.

But instead, he trudged down to the dining hall. Maybe he could force something down before the breakfast rush.

As early as it was, it was well past dawn, so any morning laborers would have finished breakfast and gone to work by now. The main dining area was mostly empty, except for one teenage server wiping down a table and, to Tim’s surprise, Gerard. The half-elf was bent over a bowl of porridge, his head down, hair hanging uncombed over his face. Sasha had still been asleep when Tim got up, and Martin was nowhere to be seen.

“Careful you don’t dip your hair in your breakfast,” Tim said by way of greeting, and Gerard visibly jumped. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Gerard raised his head, tucked his hair behind his ear, and cast a quick glance around. “Just a little on edge.”

“Guess that’s fair,” Tim said, waving to the server as he sat down. Porridge was good. He could handle porridge. “How long have you been up?”

A shrug. “Couple of hours. Waited for the early crowd to leave, then came down.”

“Only way to do it.” Tim flashed a grin at the sleepy-eyed teenager. “I’ll have what he’s having.” He nodded toward Gerard, just in time to see the half-elf sink down again, as if he was trying to shrink into the floor. Tim waited until the server left to ask, “Something wrong?”

Gerard grimaced. “I’ll be fine once we leave.”

“Ah.” Tim paused. “Wait, you’re not—gods, how do I put this—you haven’t been, I don’t know, run out of this town before, have you?”

“What?” Gerard’s head jerked upward, though he kept his voice carefully hushed. “No! Well…”

The hesitation lasted a bit too long for Tim’s liking. “Well if you have to think that hard about it, the answer’s probably yes.”

“I’ve never been run out of this town,” Gerard said wearily. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid, and we left of our own accord. Happy?”

Tim couldn’t see or hear a lie, so he nodded. “Didn’t mean anything by it. Wouldn’t judge you if you were, anyway.”

“Right. Wait—” Gerard frowned. “Have _you_ ever been chased out of a town before?”

“Nope, but my—I did know someone who was,” Tim answered, barely catching himself. “It was his own fault, but I wouldn’t say he deserved it, exactly. Things happen.”

Gerard studied him for a moment, as if deciding whether to press. In the end he shrugged and went back to his food.

Tim was halfway through his breakfast when Martin arrived, with Sasha joining them a few minutes later. A handful of other lodgers had also drifted down, scattering among the empty tables for some semblance of privacy. It was only when all four of them were there that Tim saw Gerard finally start to relax.

“So, I was thinking,” Martin said once everyone had their food. His eyes were focused on his plate, very carefully not looking at any of them. “It’s been… weird, the past few days. Since the Feywild.” Gerard cringed at the way his voice carried, and Martin continued more quietly. “Am I wrong?”

Tim exchanged a quick glance with Sasha. “No,” he admitted.

“Right. So that was… a lot.” Martin’s hands curled briefly into fists before loosening again. “And I… I want to get to Vasselheim as soon as possible, I really do. But I think we just need a day.” He took a deep breath. “This is the last leg of the journey to Emon. And it’s a trading town, so there’s a market where we can restock. And it’s safe here. So… I was thinking we might stay one more day, leave for Emon tomorrow morning.” At last he lifted his eyes. “What do you all think?”

Tim didn’t have to look at Sasha to see her answer. She was sitting up straight, tail whisking from side to side. He’d have been blind to miss the way she was admiring the market stalls last night, even if he had been in a mood.

Gerard was as difficult to read as ever. He didn’t look particularly happy about it, but then, he never really looked happy about anything, even when he was laughing about something.

“You’re sure about this?” Tim asked, turning back to Martin.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, up to now, I got the impression we were sort of on a tight schedule,” Tim pointed out. “And we already stayed an extra day in Kymal, so…”

“That wasn’t exactly a rest,” Sasha reminded him.

“It’s not about whether we were resting or not—”

“Look, here’s—here’s what I’m thinking,” Martin went on, a bit haltingly. “Do I want to get to Vasselheim as soon as possible? Yes. More than anything. But…” He wavered for a moment. “But we’re not being chased anymore. Remember?”

A hush fell over the table. Tim saw Gerard come very close to flinching, though he hid it well.

“Guess that’s the reason we were in a hurry,” Sasha muttered, looking shamefaced. Tim nudged her comfortingly, and she pursed her lips but didn’t quite smile.

It was a tough decision—did he hate Rentoul and his cronies enough to be glad the fey got them, or did he hate the fey enough to pity them?

“Like I said,” Martin went on. “This is the last part of the journey, at least here in Tal’Dorei. And we just—” He broke off again, chewing at his lip.

Sasha reached across to touch his hand lightly. It flinched back. “I think I understand, Martin.”

“What happened in the Verdant Expanse shouldn’t have happened,” Martin went on, as if he hadn’t heard her.

Gerard scoffed quietly. “Yeah, like it’s _your_ fault we got chased through a storm and herded through a portal to the Feywild.” Martin shot him a quick glare, and he met it with a stubborn stare of his own. “What? Besides, we got out, didn’t we?”

Martin broke the staring contest first, running his hand through his hair. “Yeah, fine, we did,” he said wearily. “And it was a really close call and we deserve a break. _And_ we can afford to because we don’t have the Clasp bearing down on us anymore, at least for now. That’s all. Does that sound all right to all of you?”

“I’ve got no complaints,” Sasha said quickly. “Tim?”

“Guess I wouldn’t mind the chance to do a little shopping,” Tim said with a shrug. He looked to Gerard.

The half-elf’s face was carefully blank. “Sure this’ll take a full day?” he asked. “Emerald Outpost’s not much for tourism. And browsing the market will only last you so long.”

“Clearly you’ve never been shopping with Tim,” said Sasha.

“Oh, fuck you.”

Gerard snickered at them, then got up from their table. “You two have fun with that. _I’m_ going to take full advantage of our free day and have a nap. Maybe several.”

“Booo,” Sasha said flatly.

“You’ve got your thing, I’ve got mine. See you all later.” With one last lazy wave thrown in their direction, Gerard went back upstairs.

“Well, his loss,” Sasha said lightly. “Shall we, then?”

“I’ve got to grab some stuff from upstairs,” said Tim.

“I’ll go book us another night,” Martin said, rising to his feet.

By midmorning, the three of them were venturing outside again, and for the first time Tim got a good look at the Emerald Outpost in daylight.

Martin’s descriptions had touched on it but not fully done it justice. Taken all at once, the outpost really did look like two towns from two different realms cobbled together into one. The whole place was a mess of clashing colors and styles, and nowhere was that more the case than the sprawling central market.

It was a mix of outdoor stalls and indoor shops. All manner of people were buying and selling—mostly elves and half-elves, as far as Tim could see, but there were also quite a few humans and halflings, and even a couple of dragonborn he could spot. No tieflings, though. As he, Sasha, and Martin mingled with the rest of the crowd, he couldn’t help but notice the stares that his friend was drawing—curious stares, not hostile. Sasha, not to be intimidated, simply grinned and waved cheerily to anyone unlucky enough to catch her eye.

Sasha had been sort of right—given the chance, he did like to browse at his own pace without reaching for his money. And with a market the size of a street festival at his disposal, there was plenty to see. The others followed him indulgently for the first hour or so, but Martin eventually wandered off when Tim’s animated discussion on arrow fletching stretched beyond the bounds of his patience. Sasha was also in her element, chatting with vendors and other customers alike, and admiring the merchandise on display with both her eyes and, when permitted, her hands.

Eventually Tim caught up with Martin again, at a tiny bookshop near the edge of the central market. The bookseller he was chatting with was human for the most part, though the shape of his ears suggested elven ancestry at least. The shop was cramped and smelled of old paper, the walls lined with fully stocked bookcases. Shelf labels advertised each section—one for academic magic texts, another for histories, another for language dictionaries, to name a few.

Toward the back of the shop where the bookseller stood, a few antiques were on display in protective cases. Curious, Tim wandered closer for a better look. and found an illuminated manuscript in one, and a battered-looking grimoire in another.

“My main shop is in Syngorn, actually,” the bookseller was saying. “Antiques make up most of my stock, but they’re a bit too delicate for travel.”

“I’ve heard there are spells for that,” Martin answered, carefully pulling a book from one of the shelves.

The vendor sighed. “Too powerful for the likes of me,” he said. “I never had much of a talent for magic. But I get a lot of good business here in the outpost, so I keep some of the sturdier antiques, for display purposes. It’s gotten me a few repeat customers—” At that moment he glanced over and noticed Tim. “Oh, hello. Can I interest you in anything?”

“Just looking, thanks,” Tim replied. He wandered around to where Martin was standing, and found him inspecting bound poetry collections. Tim tilted his head for a better look at the one in his hand, and raised his eyebrows.

“Good choice,” he remarked, and Martin made a strangled sound and nearly dropped the book of love poems. Tim stifled a laugh. “Never would’ve pegged you for a fan of sappy poetry, though.”

“I like poetry in general,” Martin muttered as he paid for the book. “Thanks, Mr. Swain,” he added to the bookseller.

“You’re very welcome,” Swain replied. “I hope you find your inspiration.”

“Inspiration?” Tim echoed, before it sank in. “Wait. Martin. Do _you_ write poetry?”

Martin blinked at him, confused. “I… yes? Didn’t I tell you that?”

“ _You most certainly did not._ ”

“Oh.” Martin frowned. “I could’ve sworn—maybe I just told Sasha, then.”

“You told _Sasha_ and she didn’t tell me?”

“Look, it’s been years,” Martin said wearily. “I dropped it a while ago.” He turned the book over in his hands, thumbing gently at the cover. “I’ve just been thinking of getting back into it, that’s all.”

“Oh. Shame you stopped.” Curiosity roared within him, but he bit back the flood of questions that threatened to burst forth. Martin didn’t talk much about himself; pressing too much might scare him off. Tim had already messed up once, with the singing thing.

Martin avoided his eyes by tucking the book carefully into his pouch. “Well, I was… I don’t know, I’ve been in a weird place. For a while now. A lot of things just sort of stagnated for me.”

“Writer’s block?”

“Something like that. But, you know, new start and everything. Might as well see if I can bring that back, too.”

“I wonder if Vasselheim has a poetry scene,” Tim mused. “Cradle of civilization and all, there’s probably plenty to write about.”

At the mention of the name, Swain perked up. “You’re heading to Vasselheim?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tim answered. “You ever been?”

Swain laughed. “No, and I probably never will. But I hear it’s got a fantastic library.”

“The Cobalt Vault, yeah.” Martin nodded. “I’ve heard of it, too. Actually knew someone in the Cobalt Soul for a few years.”

“And hey, never say never,” Tim added. “Maybe one day you’ll get around to it.”

“Well, not anytime soon, then,” said Swain. “It’s bad enough just traveling between here and Syngorn. You know, between you and me, I’m not looking forward to the journey back.”

Martin went still at that, and Tim swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. “How so?” Tim asked. “Trouble in the Verdant Expanse, or…?”

“Among other things,” the bookseller replied, grimacing lightly. “You might have heard of it, if you’ve come from the east. The fey have been more active than usual, and that’s not too bad on its own. It could even be good, potentially, I mean you never know with the fey.” He shook his head. “But it’s not just them. You hear whispers. Mostly rumors, but even rumors have to start somewhere. Anything from undead infestations to planar rifts where they don’t belong.”

“Planar rifts?” Martin stiffened. “Where? Not around here?”

“No, no,” Swain replied. “Gods, it would be an uproar if they were. You only hear about these things in remote places. Easier to hide, you know. Still… let’s just say I’m very happy to be surrounded by four very well-built walls.” He pulled a face. “Syngorn’s had its fair share of trouble in years past—gods, no one has any clue what the Keays are up to these days… it worries me, that’s all.”

“Who…?” Tim began. “Sorry, to badger you like this, it’s just we’re setting out tomorrow and if the road’s more dangerous than usual—”

“No, of course, I understand,” Swain said. “Sometimes I forget how isolated Syngorn can be.” He took a breath. “The long and the short of it is, a sorceress in Syngorn was discovered, well… engaging in some _less palatable_ forms of magic, and fled the city with blood on her hands. No one’s seen her since, outside of rumored sightings that never turn up anything but more murders and thefts.”

Tim shut his eyes briefly. “Great. On top of everything else, there’s a killer sorceress on the loose.”

“Have you ever met her?” Martin asked.

“Once,” Swain said quietly. “Her son, as well. It’s… not an experience I want to repeat.”

A hush fell, as the bookseller fell silent and the two of them exchanged glances. “Well, thanks for the book,” Martin said at last. “And the information. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Thank you for your patronage,” Swain said for the second time, with a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Good luck on your journey.”

They moved on from the shop, quiet and thoughtful as the new information sank in. It wasn’t hard to pick Sasha out of the crowd; they found her stocking up on spell components nearby. Reconvening, they related what Swain had told them to her.

“So, what are we thinking?” Tim asked, once they were all back on the same page.

“Could be nothing,” Sasha pointed out. “Just rumors. Swain didn’t even give a name besides—what was it? Keys?”

“Something like that,” Tim agreed. “Though—and this might be nothing, but—there’s a dark sorceress wandering around in Tal’Dorei that hardly anyone’s seen, _and_ undead shadows terrorizing Kymal.”

“Martin’s mysterious haunted cottage in the Bramblewood,” Sasha added.

“That too.” Tim nodded. “Makes you wonder if they’re all connected.”

“I still think that was the Shieldhound’s, actually,” said Sasha. “There were certainly enough horror stories about it to fit with a bloodstained cabin in the woods.”

“True, true. Martin?” Tim looked to him. “Any thoughts?”

Martin didn’t seem to hear him at first, too busy staring off into the middle distance. His eyebrows were knitted together, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Martin?” Sasha prompted.

“Sorry, just… can’t get that thing about rifts out of my head,” Martin said hesitantly.

“Care to share?” Tim asked.

“I mean, we _saw_ that,” said Martin. “In the Verdant Expanse. There shouldn’t have been a Feywild rift there—not that close to the road. I mean, people study these things! The one in the Frostweald is well documented! And—not just the Feywild, either, there’s an entire _global civilization_ of druids that guard rifts to the elemental planes, too.”

Sasha’s tail whisked nervously. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning if there’s any truth to those rumors, then that could mean fiends, or elementals, or—gods, _abe_ _r_ _rations—_ ” Martin stopped short. “We’re lucky we wound up in the Feywild and not the Abyss.”

That took a moment to sink in.

“Well, when you put it like that… yeah, thank the gods for that,” Tim agreed. Moments later, a horrible thought occurred to him. “Martin, obviously we aren’t going to go _looking_ for any terrifying rumored monsters, right? It worked out in Kymal because you could tear through shadows like tissue paper, but I don’t like our chances against demons.”

“Of course not!” Martin looked appalled. “I just—we _just_ got out of the Feywild in one piece, obviously I wouldn’ t—what, drag us out looking for _another_ tear in the fabric of the world? What do you take me for?”

“I mean, to be perfectly fair… you _did_ drag us out looking for a haunted mine,” Sasha pointed out delicately. “I mean, it worked out, because we got Gerard out of it and I like Gerard a lot. But you did do that.”

Martin’s mouth shut with an audible click, and a look of pure distress crossed his face.

“So, we’re agreed, we don’t go looking for any portals to other planes,” said Tim. “Shouldn’t be too hard.” Martin still looked troubled, so Tim clapped him gently on the shoulder. “Look, it’s fine. We’ve made it this far all right. We even shook off our tail. We’ll be in Emon in just a few days.”

“I just don’t—” Martin wrung his hands, agitated. “You were only meant to help against bandits, I never would’ve asked you to—”

“And we know that,” Sasha assured him. “And for what it’s worth, I’m really glad we came with you. You’re a good man, Martin Blackwood.”

Martin looked startled, which was good because it meant he didn’t look upset anymore. And then his face darkened with a slight blush, which was even better. “I… oh.”

Sasha beamed. “Right, now that that’s out of the way—bookshop, right? Anything good?”

“It had a decent poetry section,” Martin said hesitantly.

“And spellcasting textbooks,” Tim added, because he knew Sasha like the back of his hand.

Sure enough, her eyes lit up. “Fantastic. Which way was it again?”

She darted on ahead once they pointed the way. With a wordless shrug at Martin, Tim turned and followed her back to Swain’s bookshop. By the time he caught up to her, she was already paging eagerly through one of the volumes.

“I recognize this one!” Grinning, she showed him the cover— _Treatise on Intermediate Evocation_. “I saw it in the Cobalt Reserve, but it looked a little above my level at the time, and I didn’t get the chance to look through it.”

“Gonna get it?’ he asked.

“I think I will. Ooh— _Sending_ , I’ve always wanted to learn that one.” Shutting the book, she trotted over to the counter where Swain was standing. At the sight of her, his eyes widened, and he stood up straighter at her approach. “Good afternoon! How much is this?”

“That’s—that’s ten gold, Miss… er.” Fumbling a little, Swain adjusted his glasses. “Actually—this might be an odd question, but… you wouldn’t happen to know Infernal, would you?”

Sasha’s smile faltered. “Pardon?”

“I—gods, this is terribly rude, I don’t mean to assume,” Swain stammered out. “I recently acquired an antique grimoire, and I’ve been trying to identify it, but it’s written in Infernal and I haven’t been able to read it.”

“Huh. I _do_ know Infernal,” Sasha told him.

Swain brightened. “If you can translate it for me—the title alone would be enormously helpful—I’d be happy to let you have that book free of charge.”

“Done,” Sasha agreed.

“Oh, thank you!” Swain stooped to open a cabinet behind the counter, rummaged through it, and came back up with a book in his hands. It was indeed antique, though not quite as fragile or valuable-looking as the ones sitting in display cases. The cover was dark leather, and the pages looked rough and yellow with age. There was no title on the cover and spine, only a simple stylized eye embossed on the front. Swain carefully opened it, revealing the familiar jagged script.

Tim squinted at it. He could speak Infernal perfectly well, and knew enough to recognize the writing on sight, but he usually couldn’t pick out more than a few words. He couldn’t make heads or tails of this.

Even Sasha was frowning over it. “Hmm. You’re right about the script being Infernal,” she said. “But I don’t recognize the words.”

“You don’t?” Swain looked dismayed.

“I think this might be Abyssal, not Infernal,” said Sasha. “They use the same alphabet, but Abyssal has completely different rules, and not much in the way of sentence structure.”

Martin chose that moment to finally wander in after them. “Everything alright?”

“Can you read Abyssal?” Tim asked.

“I—no. Why?”

“He’s got a book in Abyssal that he can’t read,” Tim answered.

“Oh. That… doesn’t seem like a good idea.” Martin glanced at Swain, was staring down at the book with deep concern. “Why do you have a book written in Abyssal?”

“I thought it was Infernal—Tiefling authors aren’t uncommon,” Swain replied, clearly troubled.

“Wait a moment—” Sasha turned and flipped through her book, consulted a page, and then set it aside to dig through her bag of the day’s purchases. She produced a length of copper wire and wound it around her finger with a smile. “Always wanted to try this one.”

Her magic sparked on the wire, and her eyes lit up with triumph.

“Sorry to wake you,” she said. “At the bookshop, south side market. Found a book with an eye on the cover. Can you read Abyssal?”

She waited a few moments, then grinned. “Damn. That actually got him to come out.”

“Did you actually wake him up?” Tim asked.

“I think so, he sounded a bit grouchy.” She glanced down at the other book. “Also he said not to touch it.”

Swain snatched his hands back as if he’d been burned. “You called someone over, I assume?”

“Pretty much,” Sasha replied. “He should be here in a few minutes.”

“Wait, does he actually know Abyssal?” Tim asked. “Why does he know Abyssal?”

Sasha shrugged. “Well he’s a warlock, so I figured there was at least a nonzero chance.”

Sure enough, not ten minutes later Gerard appeared in the doorway, stepping as lightly on the floorboards as a cat. He looked rumpled, as if he’d rushed out the door without a second thought, and at least half his face was hidden behind his unbound hair. That, along with his usual slouched spine and hunched shoulders, made it look like he was doing everything he could to look smaller than he actually was.

Altogether, he looked like he longed to be anywhere else.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered when Tim waved him over. “It’s really not a great idea for me to—”

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh, _fuck_.”

Behind the counter, Swain shrank back with a faint choking noise.

Sasha, who was still standing by the book, slowly looked from one to the other with growing unease. “Er. I… take it you two know each other?”

“We’ve met,” Gerard said wearily.

“You—what—” Swain’s wide eyes went from Gerard’s face to Sasha’s, then Martin’s, then Tim’s. “Are you—you know him? You’re _traveling_ with him?”

Sasha opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. Gerard looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

“And if we are?” Martin asked.

“You said you’d never heard of the Keays!” Swain spluttered, and Tim turned his head just in time to see Gerard flinch.

“We haven’t,” Martin said flatly. “Do you want your book translated or not?”

Swain dithered for a moment more, before his shoulders slumped and he stepped back from the counter. Without a word, he gestured vaguely with his hand.

Gerard came forward, inspected the title page, and briefly leafed through it before closing the cover to see the eye symbol. His shoulders slumped a little, and he sighed.

“Vecna,” he said.

Swain jumped at his voice. “W-what?”

“It’s a book on Vecna. You know, the Whispered One? Lord of the Rotted Tower, some call him. He was an archlich who started off mortal and sought godhood.” He tapped the eye symbol on the cover. “It’s a bit faded on this, but his symbol’s a hand and an eye. Good news, though—not dangerous on its own.”

“Any bad news?” Sasha asked.

“I dunno. You won’t have much luck selling this thing.” Gerard shrugged. “And considering it’s a treatise on one of the most pants-shittingly evil beings in history, you might want to burn it just on principle. Your choice, though.” With that, he slid the closed book toward Swain and stepped back again.

“You’re not…” Swain hesitated. “You’re not going to take it?”

“No. It’s your problem, not mine.” Gerard walked away, leaving Swain looking at the book the way most people would look at a live snake.

Sasha coughed awkwardly. “So, um, about paying for this one…?” She held up the evocation spellbook.

Swain waved it away. “Just—just take it. A-and I think I’d prefer it if you all left my shop.”

Tim bristled. “Hey, we haven’t done anything,” he shot back. “And neither did Gerard, for that matter—”

“Please leave,” Swain said tightly, without looking at them. Martin was already following Gerard, and Sasha was backing away as well. With one last dirty look at the bookseller, Tim turned and stormed out after them.

As he left the shop, he could almost smell the scent of paper beginning to burn.

They caught up to Gerard as he skirted the market crowd, heading back in the direction of the inn. Tim jogged to catch him first. “Hey. Gerard—”

“Really not the time.”

“Wait, just for a second—”

“No, you don’t understand.” Gerard looked him dead in the eye. “I need to get back to the inn, right now. I need to stay there until we leave. And the rest of you, if anyone asks, have never heard of me or seen me, and there’s only three of you. Understand?”

“Of course I don’t understand,” Tim gritted out.

“Tough,” Gerard spat back. “Look, this is my fault, alright? If I’d stayed in, it would’ve been fine. I was _going_ to stay in. But then I rushed out on a whim and got recognized, and now I have to lay low so all four of us don’t get run out of town, or worse.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Wait, this doesn’t make any sense.” Sasha fell in step with them on Gerard’s other side. “Look, we’ll go with you and—”

“ _No_.” Gerard’s eyes darted around, verging on desperate. “Look, now’s not the time to be seen around me, so just—don’t follow me right away.”

With that, he cast one more glance around and hurried away.

Tim put his hand out just in time to stop Sasha from lunging after him. “Wait, Sasha, let him go for now.”

“Why?”

“Because he asked you to.” Gerard was already gone, having slipped into the crowd and vanished from sight. “And you don’t actually know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, though she wasn’t craning her neck to look for him anymore.

“It means he seems to think we shouldn’t be seen associating with him,” said Martin, with a quick glance around at he crowd. “And, considering we just got kicked out of a shop over him, he might not be wrong.”

Tim scowled. “Hey, that wasn’t his fault. That guy was way out of line.”

“I’m not saying he wasn’t,” Martin said impatiently. “Just that we might want to keep a low profile until we leave. Let’s finish up here, buy what we need, and go back.”

Sasha pursed her lips unhappily, but nodded. “What about Gerard?”

“We can ask him about this when we get back,” said Martin. “Maybe he’ll even answer.”

“That’s if he hasn’t done a runner by then,” Tim heard her mutter.

The thought had crossed his mind. And, judging by the worried frown on Martin’s face, it hadn’t escaped him, either. But, if Gerard’s panic was any indication, then the last thing he’d want to do was draw attention, which stealing a horse and fleeing the city would undoubtedly do.

And there was something to be said for trust, as well. Of course, Gerard hadn’t precisely said that he would be there when they got back, but he had implied it heavily enough to, probably, mean it.

Still, they finished their shopping quickly, the carefree air gone. Tim refilled his quiver and replaced some of his older gear, Sasha flipped through her new book to add to her growing stock of spell implements, and Martin… well, Tim lost track of Martin at some point, but eventually they all reconvened at the inn.

Tim didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until Martin opened the door to his and Gerard’s room, and there was Gerard, curled up on one of the chairs with a book.

For a moment the three of them hesitated outside, not sure what to do. Maybe none of them had really expected to get this far.

“Might as well come in,” Gerard said without looking up. “Dunno why you need my permission when you’re the one paying for the room.”

“I was being _polite_ ,” Martin sighed.

“Right, yeah.” Gerard set the book aside. “Close the door behind you, yeah? Did anyone ask about me?”

“Not that I heard,” Tim said as they all filed in. At the rear, Sasha shut the door. “So. Want to tell us what that was all about?”

“Not really,” Gerard said flatly. “But life’s full of little concessions, so.” He spread his hands. “Where would you like me to start?”

Martin was the one to break the hesitant silence that followed. “You’re name’s Gerard Keay?” he asked quietly.

“Heard of me, have you?”

“No,” said Martin. “Just wanted to make sure I’ve got it right.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” said Gerard. “Not like I picked it, anyway.”

Tim followed Sasha to sit down on one of the beds—the one that was neatly made, probably Martin’s. “How did Swain know you?” she asked

Gerard took a deep breath. One hand went to his collar, where he hooked a finger on a chain around his neck and pulled a small pendant into view. As he spoke, he kept his hands occupied with playing with it. “He’s a bookseller who likes his antiques. A few years back, he got his hands on a book that turned out to be cursed. He went looking for help and found Mary Keay by accident.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “My mum, like you probably guessed.”

On instinct, Tim nudged Sasha lightly to stop her from interrupting. She scowled at him, but it worked.

“Anyway, she offered to take it off his hands, and sent me to fetch it,” Gerard went on. “I went to his shop in Syngorn and burned it instead. The book, not his shop.” A look of dark satisfaction crossed his face. “She didn’t like that very much.”

“Right…” Sasha said, once she was sure he was finished. “And your mum?”

“And my mum,” Gerard said, heaving another sigh. “What’d he tell you about her?”

“That she was a sorceress in Syngorn who dabbled in things she shouldn’t have,” Martin answered.

“That’s true,” said Gerard.

“He… kind of implied she murdered someone and fled the city,” Tim added.

“Also true. That’s Mum for you.” Gerard paused to inspect his pendant, swiping away an imaginary speck of dust. “If you’re curious, the man she murdered was her husband.”

“Gods,” Sasha muttered. “Why?”

“Domestic to a fault,” Gerard replied. “Made him dead weight, in her eyes. And she couldn’t have that. So she killed him, took me, and ran off to chase her ambitions elsewhere.” He let the amulet fall back to his chest. “And that’s why they don’t like me very much in Syngorn.”

“Wait,” said Tim. “That only explains why they don’t like your mum.”

“Are you still with her?” Sasha asked. “I mean, in contact with her?”

“Nah. Got out as soon as I had the chance.” Gerard shrugged. “But they don’t know that. And besides, she raised me. They probably figure she turned me rotten.” He bared his teeth in a bitter smile. “They might even be right.”

“I doubt it,” Tim snapped. “How old were you when she left?”

“Ohhh, I don’t know,” Gerard said in a single heavy breath. “Five, maybe? Not like it matters.”

“Of courses it matters,” Sasha said quietly. “You were a _kid._ ”

“I was,” Gerard agreed. “And now I’m not. Bit late to be rescued now, you understand.”

“But that’s—” Tim forced himself to stop, grinding his teeth to hold back the childish _It’s not fair_. Of course it wasn’t fair. These things were never fair; he knew that better than anyone in this room besides Gerard.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Gerard spoke again after a minute. His eyes were on Martin. “Any thoughts? Analysis?”

Martin looked startled to be addressed, as if he’d forgotten he was part of the discussion at all. “Why didn’t you say anything before?” he asked, once he’d recovered.

Gerard pulled a face. “When would I have gotten the chance?”

“You could’ve said something before we entered the town,” Martin pointed out. He didn’t sound _accusing_ , exactly, but he didn’t sound happy either.

“Didn’t think it’d come up,” Gerard replied. “I figured we’d stay the night here and leave first thing, before anyone caught on and recognized me.”

“What about this morning, then?” Martin asked. “When I first suggested we stay an extra day? I asked because I wanted input.”

“Yeah, but you three looked excited about shopping.” Gerard avoided his eyes. “Didn’t want to break your hearts. So, I figured I’d stay in all day, avoid being seen.”

“And when you did come out…?”

Gerard grimaced slightly. “Sasha sent a message about a book with an eye on the cover. I got my hopes up and decided it was worth the risk. Won’t happen again, don’t worry.”

“That’s not what I—” Martin sounded frustrated more than anything. “I’d just like to _know_ these things before I make decisions that put any of us at risk.”

“Well, sorry for putting you lot at risk, then.”

Sasha winced. “Um, Gerard—”

“I meant _you,_ ” Martin retorted.

In an instant, Gerard went from studying his amulet to staring at Martin.

“Look,” Martin went on, with forced patience. “Whether I like it or not, this is—this is my journey, or whatever, and I’m the reason the rest of you are along for it. And I know I didn’t hire you like I did Tim and Sasha, but I still took you on, and that—I don’t _want_ to put you on the spot like that if I don’t have to. The last thing I want to do is put any of you in danger, and that _includes_ you.”

Gerard spent another few moments just staring at him, before he finally looked away again. “It was my business, not yours,” he said. “Not like you needed another reason to hate me, anyway.”

Martin stilled.

His face went through an impressive number of emotions before finally settling on a careful blankness painted over dismay. “I don’t… I don’t hate you,” he said quietly.

Gerard didn’t look back, but his expression softened a bit. “Well, you could’ve fooled me.”

There was an odd tension in the air now. Tim couldn’t bring himself to break it, but luckily Sasha never had much trouble.

“Er, Gerard,” she began.

“Gerry.”

Sasha blinked. Then Gerard blinked as well, as if he’d surprised himself by speaking.

Quickly, he recovered himself. “Look, just—Gerard’s what my mum called me. It’s what—”

He gestured vaguely toward the door, avoiding their eyes. “You know. What they all call me. I don’t think I like it anymore. So just—just Gerry.”

“Gerry, then,” Sasha said with a quick smile. “I know you said you’re not, er, _associated_ with your mother anymore, but is she still… around? Out there somewhere?”

Gerard—Gerry—grimaced again. “Unfortunately. There was a little while I thought she might—well. I was wrong, in the end.”

He toyed with his amulet, clearly debating with himself. Finally, he hooked the chain with his finger again and held up the charm. It caught the light, flashing silver and green. With a proper look at it, Tim could identify the stylized shape of a closed eye.

“This was one of the first perks I got from my patron,” he said. “It wards off scrying. Long as I have it on, she’s got no way of knowing where I am. I don’t take it off. You’re safe around me.” He looked at them all warily. “That answer your question?”

“Yeah,” Sasha said quietly, hands clasped in front of her. “Yeah, I think I’m good.”

“I’m… I’m good too,” Martin added.

Tim opened his mouth to speak.

Then he closed it again. Now wasn’t the time. Tomorrow then, after they all had the chance to sleep on this.

“Thanks,” he said, instead. “For telling us all this.”

Gerry gave an awkward shrug. “Figured it was in my best interests at this point,” he said. “So… what happens now?”

“Well, I think we’re all done for the day,” Martin said with a quick glance at Tim and Sasha. “So we’re just gonna lie low. Leave tomorrow, like we planned.”

“I didn’t see any guards rushing around earlier,” Sasha added. “So I don’t think Swain told anyone about you.”

“He wouldn’t have,” Gerry said with a wry grin. “I didn’t hurt him, and I burned the book that did. He just knows I tend to bring bad news with me.”

Tim’s opinion of Swain didn’t exactly rise at that, but it didn’t sink further, either.

“Well I’m glad we met you,” Sasha said, almost defiantly.

Gerry raised his eyebrows at her. “You’d be the first.”

“Fine. Great.” Sasha threw her hands upward. “Someone had to be. Now, is anyone else hungry, or is it just me?”  
“I could _murder_ a cuppa right about now,” Martin admitted.

“Kitchen’s open, I’ll bet,” Tim said, rising to his feet. Sasha was already darting out the door.

“You coming?” Martin asked, turning back to Gerry.

“Er…”

“We’ll bring you something,” Tim called over. “Any drink preferences?”

Something flickered in Gerry’s eyes, like hope, like eagerness. It flicked toward Martin, briefly.

“Thanks,” he said, and then, “Tea’s fine, I think.”


	8. Chapter 8

Gerry woke slowly, one piece at a time. He was dimly aware of someone speaking nearby, though he couldn’t be sure. The voice was familiar, but barely, and with sleep muddling every one of his senses, he could very well have been dreaming it.

Sure enough, when he roused himself enough to open his eyes, he found only Martin there, gathering what little he had unpacked over their brief stay. It was still more than what Gerry had, so he shut his eyes again and let himself doze a little longer. Eventually, the sleepy fog lifted, and Gerry sat up and pushed his hair out of his face so that it didn’t get in his mouth when he yawned.

“Good, you’re up,” said Martin. He had finished packing and now sat waiting on his neatened bed, playing with his little rune-covered Message stone.

“We in a hurry?” Gerry asked, swallowing another yawn.

“Well, we haven’t had any city guards knocking our doors down looking for you,” Martin replied, pocketing the stone. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

“Kind of was,” Gerry admitted.

Martin looked over. “We’re fine,” he told him, with a practical brusqueness that didn’t really leave room for lying. “Get ready to leave. Tim and Sasha will be here with breakfast soon.”

By the time the others arrived, Gerry had finished packing up what little he’d brought. Sasha came in bearing a fully laden breakfast tray, with Tim at her heels with a kettle of freshly boiled water. Gerry cleared a place on the room’s one table for the tray, while Martin took charge of the kettle.

“Last leg,” Sasha said eagerly. “How long do you think it’ll take us to reach Emon?”

“Two, three days?” Martin looked to Tim for confirmation.

“I’d say at least three,” said Tim. “And that’s barring any delays. It’s a little farther from here to Emon than back to the Verdant Expanse. Good news is, we’ll see a lot more little villages and settlements the closer we get to Emon.”

“We’ll probably see a lot more people in general,” Martin added. “There’s regular traffic between here and Emon. So it should be safer overall.”

Gerry nodded thoughtfully, snagging a bread roll from the breakfast tray. “What’s the plan once we get there?”

“Secure passage by ship to Issylra,” Martin replied. “We’ll probably dock in Shorecomb, so we’ll be able to take the road north from there to Vasselheim. We’ve still got a ways to go.”

Before long, tea was passed around. Gerry found his to be just the same as the cup Martin had given him the day before, lightly sweet and warm with none of the unpleasant smokiness he was used to in tea. He wasn’t completely sure if this was how tea was supposed to taste, and at this point he was too embarrassed to ask.

“How fast do we need to leave today, d’you think?” he asked. He wasn’t sensing any danger, but then, the Eye was more likely to warn him about monsters than normal angry people

No one had been talking, but a slight hush still settled in response to the question. Tim and Sasha shared a quick glance, as they usually did when things got uncomfortable.

“I’d like to leave as soon as possible, but that’s more my preference than any danger,” said Martin.

“We didn’t see or hear any sign of trouble downstairs,” Sasha said.

“Swain must be keeping his mouth shut,” Tim added.

“Right. Good.” His appetite took a sudden dip, but he forced himself to take another bite. At least bread was bland enough to choke down.

“Hey.” Sasha was the only one close enough to nudge him. Her elbows were every bit as pointy as they looked. “We’ll be fine. There’s no harm done from yesterday. In about an hour we’ll be out of here, and we never have to come back here again.” She made a show of dusting her hands off. “Sooner the better, if you ask me.”

“Bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Can you blame me?” she asked, with an unapologetic shrug. “The way you tell it, you _helped_ him, and he treated you like a criminal.”

“It was a bit more complicated than that…” Gerry let it trail off. The look on Sasha’s face told him it was a losing argument. “Look, I should… I want to manage expectations, a bit.”

All eyes were on him, and in an instant the Eye was on him as well, its steady piercing gaze digging into the back of his neck as if it knew what he was about to bring it up.

“So, they don’t like me in Syngorn,” he went on. “And since this place is related to Syngorn, I had to lay low. I… honestly don’t know what to expect in Emon.” He picked at the side of his finger nail, avoiding the others’ eyes. “I haven’t been there since I was a kid. But my mum made a few enemies there, just ‘cause she makes enemies everywhere she goes. Dunno what to expect, really. Might be nothing. Might be more of this.”

“I doubt it,” Tim said. “Emon’s a big city. Chances are, no one’ll pick you out of a crowd unless you go out of your way to be noticed.” Something must have showed on Gerry’s face, because Tim suddenly frowned. “What’s that look for?”

“It’s not like I try to attract attention. I just _do_.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s the fact that I’m magically tied to a supernatural being whose power comes from terrifying knowledge and painful truths, I dunno.”

“Could be the eyeball tattoos,” said Sasha. Gerry gave her a pained look. “I’m _just saying_.”

“Question,” Martin spoke up.

By force of habit, Gerry’s wariness spiked. “Yes?”

“Does—does your patron have a… I don’t know. A reputation?” Martin worried his lip between his teeth. “As far as I know, I don’t think the Ceaseless Watcher’s common knowledge?”

“Wouldn’t say common, no,” Gerry agreed, carefully relaxing. “But… yeah, I guess it does. I don’t know a lot about it, that’s… sort of why I rushed down yesterday. I heard ‘mysterious book with eyeball imagery’ and got my hopes up. But I’ve heard rumors. Whispers, more like. Some of it’s stuff like, it floats through the planes in search of new horrors to drink in, or it was summoned to this world through X number of human sacrifices and dark rituals and what have you, or that it feeds on terror and suffering and tortured babies, things like that. Hard to separate out the truth from the standard dark-ritual rumors.”

“Is there anything you’re sure of?” Martin pressed.

“Somewhat,” Gerry said hesitantly. “I’m pretty sure it does feed on fear, in a way. Sort of the way gods are strengthened by prayers. It’s not always with me—it moves around a lot, always looking for something new to See, that’s why one of its titles is the Wandering Eye—but it always comes back when I’m… when I’m afraid.” _Or nervous and uncomfortable, like now._ “Doesn’t do much. Mostly it just… watches.” He swallowed. “You know that feeling, yeah? Eyes burning into the back of your head? It’s like that times a thousand.”

Martin nodded mutely and didn’t ask anything more.

Gerry shrugged. “So, yeah. Sorry you have to deal with that ‘til Vasselheim.”

“You’re fine,” Sasha informed him.

“I think we’ve all got baggage,” Tim said suddenly. He was staring into his mostly-empty tea mug, swirling the dregs around as if trying to read his fortune.

Gerry nodded and looked away.

“I’m not just saying that,” Tim went on. “We’ve been running into each other’s baggage this whole journey. First Sasha’s, then—then mine. Today was just your turn.”

Gerry nodded again, though the words only sank in when Martin spoke up.

“Wait, what do you mean yours?”

Tim shifted in his seat, leg bouncing a little in agitation. Without a word, Sasha reached over and put her hand to his arm.

“I was gonna say something yesterday,” said Tim, carefully avoiding all of their eyes. “Just didn’t feel like the right time, that’s all. With Gerry’s thing happening.” He took a deep breath. “But, in the interest of being honest… Hell with it. What have I got to lose?”

“You don’t have to,” Sasha reminded him.

Tim shrugged. “There’s not even that much to tell,” he said, running the fingers of one hand over the white knuckles of the other. “My brother and I left home when we were young—practically still kids, honestly. Stilben… it’s not like we had it _bad,_ exactly. But Stilben’s a miserable place, so we got out as soon as we could.” He sat back with a wry smile. “We wanted to see the rest of Tal’Dorei, or the whole world—or just, _something_ that wasn’t the coastal swamp. And we did! And we were good at it.”

He faltered. _“He_ was good at it.”

Unbidden, the Watcher slipped the rest of the story into Gerry’s head. He shut his eyes and continued to listen anyway.

“So, one day he goes off to scout out the Frostweald, right?” Tim’s smile turned bitter. “That was the next place on our list—endless winter, basilisks, all that shit. Sounded perfect. Only, Danny didn’t come back.”

His cheekbone shifted, betraying how he clenched his teeth. “I went after him. Obviously. Tracked him straight to a rift that led to the Feywild. Went through it. And I found that—that gods-damned amphitheater. All brightly lit and full of music. No audience, though. Just me.”

He fell silent again, running his hand through his hair to hide the way it shook.

“Just me,” he repeated. “And Danny up on the stage. That’s the last I ever saw him.”

Silence fell over the room again. Gerry looked on, ignoring the blaze of the Watcher’s eyes on him, watching Tim, around him and through him. Martin’s face was blank, though his mouth trembled.

“Tim,” he began.

“Do you know how hard it was?” Tim asked quietly. “Walking away—running away, again, instead of walking into that mess and shooting that _fucking_ fey between the eyes?” He reached up, the motion so quick that Gerry almost didn’t catch it, and rubbed one of his eyes. “But I didn’t. Had to think of all of you, didn’t I?”

“Shit,” Gerry breathed.

“Don’t know where I was going with this,” Tim finished. “I dunno. Thanks for dragging us out of there, Gerry.”

Gerry nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak just yet.

“Do you think they’re hunting you?” he asked, once he did.

“Hell if I know,” Tim replied, with a humorless laugh. “I’m hunting _them_ , that’s for sure.”

Martin made a noise, somewhere between worry and faint disapproval, and Tim winced. His stance shifted, shoulders going slack, spine bowing. “Not that I’m gonna do anything yet, obviously. First priority’s getting you to Vasselheim. That’s always been the case.”

Martin nodded, subdued. “Thanks. And, I’m sorry—”

“It was years ago,” Tim informed him.

“I know. Still sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Tim shook his head, sat up, and leaned back on his palms. “Anyway, that’s all I had to say. Just wanted to clear the air, in case… I dunno. In case we run into any more Feywild rifts.”

At a nudge from the Watcher, Gerry bent a metaphorical ear and was rewarded with a useful little tidbit. “We probably won’t,” he offered. “The fey like to keep their things hidden. If it’s all open, crowded plains from here to Emon, then it’ll be too out in the open for their liking.”

“And the road to Vasselheim?” Tim asked grimly.

This time, the Watcher wasn’t forthcoming, and Gerry knew better than to prod. “Good question,” he said. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Probably.” Martin heaved a sigh and got to his feet. “And, speaking of which, we should probably get going.”

The dishes were gathered up and left on the tray. The last of their belongings were gathered up from both rooms. Together, the four of them made their way downstairs, left the inn, and went to retrieve their horses.

For all that he had going for him—reassurances, company around him, and even a full night’s sleep with minimal nightmares—Gerry was on edge as they saddled the horses. Never mind that it was pointless worrying now, when they were already on their way out. Never mind that even Martin seemed to be softening on him a little. He’d been expecting things to go south for him since he first set foot in the outpost, and the run-in with Swain had done nothing to loosen that tension. Now he was glancing over his shoulder all the time, wishing the other shoe would hurry up and drop so that he could stop waiting for it.

And in spite of all of this, he was still caught off guard when, as he was passing through the gates of the outpost, the voice of one of the guards reached him.

“Good riddance.”

He looked. He couldn’t help it. The elf wasn’t one that he recognized, but he was in full Syngorn colors and held himself like a city elf—upright and haughty.

Noble, but far removed from any meaningful title or power, the Watcher supplied. Because it couldn’t warn him ahead of time, but it could offer trivia after the fact.

The elf met his eyes squarely, emboldened by the fact that Gerry was leaving. “Better not see you back here, Keay.”

And by all accounts, that was tame. He’d had far worse thrown at him than just his name. But maybe that was why it stung—the fact that the worst thing someone could think to call him was his own name.

Something shrank within him, shriveling and drying up into something tiny and misshapen and ugly. He looked away, almost too quickly to miss the miniature fireworks display that went off in the elf’s face.

The guard yelped, nearly falling over as brightly colored crackling sparks exploded within blinding distance. Gerry startled, and turned to the others just in time to see a Sasha slip a wand back into her belt. The guard swore at her, and she flipped him off without looking back.

Before anyone could get a word out on either side, they were through the gates and leaving the Emerald Outpost behind. Pressing his lips together, Gerry hid a smile as the shrinking feeling let up.

* * *

It wasn’t like they hit crowds as soon as they left the Emerald Outpost. Perhaps it might have been like that closer to Emon, or in a warmer part of the year. But, as they headed further north and west along what Martin identified as the Emerald Path, Tim found himself observing more and more other travelers on the road. They passed by a few lone travelers on foot and a couple of horse-drawn wagons, and on one occasion, a day after leaving the Emerald Outpost, an entire caravan passed them while they were stopping to let their horses rest.

Whenever it happened, Tim felt something loosen within him that he’d barely realized was wound tight. As pleasant as a quiet road could be, there was something reassuring about crossing paths with other people along the way.

The day of rest had done him good, in spite of its hiccups. In the wake of the Feywild, he’d felt stretched thin and inches from breaking down or throwing a punch. But now, with the knots in him loosened, the truth out, and the next big phase of the journey within reach, he was comfortable again. Even out in open grassland, he felt secure in his own skin.

At one point on the second day, as the group crested a low hill, Tim was dragged out of his daydreams by Sasha tugging at him eagerly. “Tim. Tim, look.”

She pointed west. Following her finger, Tim squinted into the distance, following the sea of green toward the horizon until it became a sea of blue-gray.

An actual sea, to be exact.

“Is that…?”

“That’s the Ozmit Sea,” Martin called over. “We’re about halfway between the outpost and Emon.”

“You think?” Tim did a little mental math. At this rate, they’d get there in another two days, barring any disasters.

It was Martin’s turn to point, this time directing their attention to the road ahead. A river meandered across the plain from the sea, crossing over the Emerald Path at one point. By Tim’s reckoning, they’d reach it in an hour or so.

“According to the map,” said Martin. “That river’s the halfway point.”

“Might be a good place to stop,” Tim suggested. “Give the horses another breather.”

“Think the water’s okay for them to drink?” Sasha asked.

“Martin can purify it if it isn’t, remember?”

“Ooh, good point.”

Without warning, a rank smell hit Tim like a physical blow, so thick that the air almost felt warm. It reminded him, rather uncomfortably, of the swampland and salt flats around Stilben. Automatically he started breathing through his mouth, just as Sasha made a noise of faint disgust.

“Oh, that’s foul.”

“Tide flats, maybe?” Tim replied. Breathing through his mouth wasn’t helping much; now he could _taste_ it. “All that dead fish getting washed up on shore, baking out in the sun.”

“Too cold for that, isn’t it?” Gerry said absently.

“Nah, that’s just the ocean for you. The smell’s year-round.”

“No, it’s… that’s got to be something else.” Sasha still had her hand cupped over her nose. “I’ve been around the sea before—there’s a different between rotten fish and rotten eggs, and this is a bit more on the eggs side of things.”

“Lovely.” Moments later, to Tim’s enormous relief, the winds changed at the smell abated. “Oh thank the gods, it’s gone. See? Tide flats. It’ll probably get worse as we get closer to the sea.”

“Ugh, it’ll be rank in Emon, then,” Sasha groaned.

“It’s not rank in Emon,” Martin assured them.

“Oh, right, I almost forgot you’ve been there,” said Sasha. “How long has it been?”

“A few years, I guess,” Martin said with a shrug.

“Ever think about finishing bard school?”

Martin managed a wry smile. “Probably not. I think that ship has sailed.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short! You’ve got a new poetry book and everything. And don’t think I’ve forgotten that your voice is lovely, too!”

With a pained look, Martin pulled ahead without answering.

As they drew closer to the bridge over the river, the odd chill wind and dip in temperature drove Tim to reach for his spare cloak. He passed the reins to Sasha for a moment while he got it settled around him, but still the cold persisted. It didn’t bode well; chills like this usually meant something else on the horizon. Martin said they couldn’t be sure if they’d be sleeping indoors or camping again tonight, and the last thing they needed was a sudden rainstorm. At least the sky was the usual uniform gray of winter, with no ominous looming clouds in the distance.

“You alright?” Gerry asked, startling him.

“Yeah, fine,” Tim replied. “Just getting a bit cold. Aren’t you?”

Gerry seemed to give that question a lot more thought than was really warranted. His eyebrows drew together and furrowed in the middle. Maybe he was worried about the weather, too?”

“Gerry?” Tim prompted.

He shook his head as if clearing it. “Something’s… I dunno. Just can’t shake this feeling. Something’s not right.”

“Alright,” Tim said hesitantly. “Can you be more specific than that?”

“Not… not really?” Gerry shook his head, looking frustrated. “Just a general bad feeling, I guess. Can’t really put a name to it.”

“Not a whole lot we can do with that,” said Sasha.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, just. Keep an eye out.”

For what, he didn’t say, and Tim didn’t bother asking.

He would have loved to let that go, to pass it off as Gerry getting spooked by his own creepy patron of voyeurism, but then Sasha started shifting and fidgeting in the saddle. Which wouldn’t have been a problem, except the two of them were sharing a horse and that meant Sasha couldn’t help but make it his problem.

The third time one of her horns jabbed him in the chin, he sighed deeply. “Sasha—”

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, wincing. “Just a bit light-headed, that’s all. I’ll try to sit still.”

“We’re almost to the river,” he reminded her. “Once we’re there, we’ll stop for a rest and a leg stretch.”

“I need a _nap_ ,” Sasha sighed, sitting back against his chest. “Or… I don’t even know.”

Within the hour, they reached the river. It was a small one, more of a large creek than a full river. It was only a tributary, broken off from the main waterway that curved south toward the mountains around the Emerald Outpost. Still, the water looked too deep to ford, and it was wide enough from one bank to the other to warrant a bridge. Martin led the way across it, and they found themselves to be not alone.

Others had similar ideas to theirs, apparently. A water trough and a few tethering posts stood some distance away from the bank. Just beyond it, a cluster of wagons had pulled to the side to tend to their horses. All told there were about twenty people milling around, checking over their wagons and seeing to their animals, though there were many others simply sitting back and resting. One halfling woman was lounging by the riverbank, quietly fishing.

Something within Tim settled at the sight. It was always nice, seeing a bit of normalcy out on the road.

Sasha and Tim dismounted just a beat behind Martin, who was heading over to the trough. It was about wide enough for eight horses to drink side-by side, with buckets to fill it from the river. One of the men from the caravan was inspecting its contents with a critical eye.

“Water’s brackish,” he was saying as they approached. “It’s not good for drinking.”

Martin dipped his hand into the water, as he’d done back at the Ironseat ridge. The water shimmered, rippled, and turned startlingly clear.

The man blinked, tasted the water again, and turned to incline his head to Martin. “Thank you.”

“A-anytime,” Martin said, a bit bashfully.

Their horses drank—or at least, two of them did. When Tim glanced back to see what was keeping Gerry, he spotted him still in the saddle, facing away. His first thought was confusion, before common sense and memory kicked in. They were surrounded by people again, barely two days out from the Emerald Outpost. No wonder he was feeling uneasy.

Passing the reins to Sasha, Tim crossed the distance and skirted around to where Gerry was facing. “Hey. You good up there?”

It took a moment for Gerry to reply. For the life of him, Tim couldn’t figure out exactly what Gerry was looking at, or looking for. His eyes flickered this way and that, searching, but from the look on his face, he wasn’t finding it.

“Something’s wrong,” he said simply.

Tim frowned. “Sasha’s feeling a bit peaky, too. Maybe you need to stretch your legs a bit?”

“No, not that kind of—” Gerry paused, glaring into the middle distance as if willing something to manifest before him. “I don’t think we should be here.”

“Don’t think we should—” Tim stopped short and looked around, scanning the faces around them for any sign of ill intent. From what he could tell, everyone seemed to be ignoring them, for the most part. “What do you mean? Do you think we’re in danger?”

“Yeah,” Gerry replied. “Couldn’t tell you what, though. We should move on.”

Tim wavered, looking back to the others. The horses were secured. Sasha was sitting with her back to a dry part of the trough, while Martin rummaged through his pack for something. “We might need a bit more than that,” he said. “Are you sure you can’t give any, I dunno, details? And what about all the people here, too?”

“I mean, we could try and convince them, if you think they’ll listen,” Gerry said impatiently. “And I don’t have details, that’s not how it works.”

“How does it work, then?” Tim asked. “I thought things just popped into your head.”

“Only sometimes,” Gerry scowled. “Never exactly what I’m looking for. And right now nothing’s ‘popping into my head’, it’s just… wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“It feels wrong,” he repeated. “I don’t—”

“Can you guess?” Tim pressed.

Gerry’s mouth pressed shut in a tight line. He opened his mouth to reply.

It was hard to explain how Tim felt it before he saw it. He felt it the same way one would feel a breeze, or a ray of sunlight in summer. If the world was woven fabric, then he felt it split along a seam, fibers parting one by one as a gaping hole was torn open.

And then, of course, something reached out from the other side.

When he heard the snarl, he thought it was the air itself at first. What could possibly make a sound like that but the sundering of the world?

The answer came on four legs—once, twice, and a third time. Grass withered beneath paws the color of old blood, rust and brown that darkened to the off-color black of a scab. Spittle dripped from scarred jaws, sizzling when it hit the ground.

Two hell hounds flanked a larger third, spreading out with each step forward. There were screams from the other travelers. People leapt into saddles and wagons, urging the horses to a gallop to get away. One of the hell hounds broke from the rest to snap at a few retreating heels, but a snarl from the others brought it back.

Tim already had an arrow on the string. He loosed it with calm efficiency, catching one of the hounds square in the shoulder. It recoiled with a snarl, then turned its bloodshot maddened eyes on Tim.

From behind him, Martin shouted something that Tim couldn’t quite make out. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end as a flash of blinding light shot from behind him, straight into the chest of the largest hell hound. This one staggered back, recovered, and limped into position, now wreathed in the same sickly light.

The hounds charged. Tim narrowly dodged the one he’d wounded, as the other little one circled around to flank them. Gerry leapt from the saddle as the horse beneath him took the opportunity to bolt. He landed on his feet with barely a stumble, but doing so put him within biting range. The largest hound latched onto his leg, attempting to drag him off his feet, but a swift swing of his blade forced it to release him and back off. The blade shimmered green as it thrummed through the air, and Tim noted for the first time that the wirework of the basket hilt was twisted into the shape of an eye.

He barely had time to wonder about it when Sasha’s voice rang out, high and clear and urgent. “Brace yourselves!”

Tim’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.”

On instinct he lunged and grabbed Gerry’s arm—to brace Gerry or himself, he wasn’t sure— just as Sasha ran into range, and her magic burst from her in a roll of thunder.

The force of it nearly bowled him over, but he managed to stay on his feet and keep Gerry upright as well. The hellhounds caught the full force of it; two of them were sent flying back, while one barely managed to stay on its feet. Tim wasted no time shooting it.

It rounded on him, teeth bared to bite back, before a voice stopped it mid-lunge.

It wasn’t quite right, calling it a voice. It was murder on his ears. He could barely tell that the thing was trying to talk. It was the kind of voice and language that carved through the air and dug into his skull like nails hammered into the bone.

The seam split further, tearing through the planes like gossamer, leaving ragged bleeding shreds where a smooth, unbroken world had once been.

And then the thing stepped through, and he didn’t even get the chance to see it before it made him bleed.

Jagged steel whipped around him, binding him fast before he had the chance to blink, Each link was sharpened and barbed, gouging easily wherever they dug in. Tim choked and swore as he was dragged to his knees like a dog on a choke chain.

The thing had stepped into the world on two legs, not four. It was tall and broad, its skin the same bloody crimson as the hounds, and mostly covered by the barbed, weighted chains that clothed it. Chains bound its face in a mask, hiding it entirely from view except for its burning, bright yellow eyes.

Another bolt of holy light hit it in the chest, infecting it with the eerie glow of Martin’s magic. Tim heard it grunt on impact, but other than that it barely flinched.

Dimly he could hear hell hounds snarling, Gerry crying out in pain. One of them lunged for him, only to be driven off by a cruel flick from another chain. The devil was speaking in harsh tones—Infernal. He knew Infernal. He and Sasha spoke it whenever they didn’t want people listening in.

But—what it was saying didn’t make sense. Even with dozens of barbs digging in and muddying his thoughts with pain, he could understand the words. But they _didn’t make sense_.

The hounds were moving past them, ignoring them in favor of other prey. Tim’s arms were mostly free, but he didn’t trust himself to shoot straight. Drawing his sword, he swung at a passing hellhound and tore a gash through its ragged coat. It staggered but kept running, straight to where Martin stood.

This one didn’t go for a bite. It opened its jaws, and fire spilled forth. Martin screamed, and the smell of burning flesh made Tim’s stomach churn with revulsion and rage.

A volley of magic missiles struck he devil, and Sasha cursed at it in Infernal. Harsh, crackling laughter spilled from its masked face, and it yanked cruelly on the chains binding him.

Fuck it. Fuck this.

Tim grabbed his bow. Ignoring the pain, he knocked an arrow and shot the thing in the throat. It didn’t seem to do as much damage as Tim would have liked, but at least it stopped the laughing.

Two of the hounds were focused on Martin, with the third barring the others from helping him. Sasha tried to break past, but the hound grabbed her rapier blade, wrenched it out of her hands, and cast it aside before lunging at her. Tim watched her lose her temper and snarl right back at it, sending an impressive but ultimately useless gout of fire into its face.

“Don’t use fire!” Gerry roared out. “Fire won’t work on—”

“I know!” Sasha snapped.

“But you just—”

“ **I know what I ‘just’, shut up!** ”

Gods, she was pissed. She almost never slipped into Infernal without meaning to. Did Gerry even know Infernal?

Tim fit another arrow into his bow and took aim at the hell hound giving her trouble. Behind him, the devil yanked him off his feet, and the arrow went wide. The barbs tore into him deeper. The dead grass beneath him was already streaked with red. Healing had never been his strong suit, but he forced magic into his wounds anyway, driving back the darkness that crept into his vision.

“Tim!” Martin yelled. He threw his hand out, sending sacred fire down not on any of the hell hounds attacking him, but on the devil. The flames took hold for a moment, radiance setting the chains aglow. The creature recoiled, and the chain around Tim loosened if only for a moment.

The hell hounds moved as one, two of them closing in on Martin while the other still fought to get past Sasha. Martin caught a bite from one of them on the handle of his axe; the other seized onto his arm instead and wrenched.

Even from the distance, with his own blood pounding in his ears, Tim could hear the crack of a bone breaking.

Gerry hesitated when Martin screamed, paralyzed with indecision. Tim opened his mouth to yell at him, but Martin beat him to the punch.

“Help Tim!”

“No—!” Tim choked out, but Gerry’s indecision was already gone. He lifted his sword in both hands and charged the chain devil like an _idiot_. His sword flashed as he swung it, glowing with the sickly power of his patron. With a single powerful swing, Gerry brought the blade down on the arm holding the chain that bound Tim.

With a roar of pain, it lashed out with another chain, catching Gerry across the chest. Instead of dodging back, Gerry went in for a second swing that nearly severed the arm from its body. It wavered, and just for a moment the chain around Tim went fully slack.

He saw his chance and took it. The sharpened links tore into his hands when he grabbed them, and the barbs tore at him as he ripped the chains away, but in a matter of moments he was free. Sasha pounced on a hell hound that lunged toward him, giving Tim more time to roll to his feet and scramble out of range.

He had an arrow nocked, fingers slick with blood as he gripped the string. He wavered for a moment, caught between the hounds already attacking Martin and Sasha, and the devil that was no longer occupied with keeping him bound.

Martin was still flanked by two of the gods-damned things, his injured arm hanging bloody and useless at his side. But Gerry was already sprinting to close the distance, sword in hand and already glowing again.

Fuck it.

Tim took aim at the devil. Even injured and shaken, it was impossible to miss from this distance. Still he sighted along the arrow, determined to make the shot count.

His vision wavered.

In an instant, he was no longer looking at a fiend dressed in chains. Instead, Danny was staring back at him.

Smiling at him with lips that stretched far too wide. With skin that didn’t quite fit on his face anymore. With blood trickling from the hidden seam where it had been sewn in place.

The shot went wide—did he even take the shot at all, or did he simply drop the bow and let it and the arrow fall where they may?

Dimly he could hear someone calling his name, screaming in desperation—it couldn’t be Danny, though.

By the time Tim had found him, Danny was too far gone to scream.

A bolt of light shot from behind him and struck the vision full in the chest, shattering it to pieces. It was over in an instant, Tim left dazed and blinking stupidly at the devil standing where his brother had just been. It was glowing again, with Martin’s magic—or was it Gerry’s? It was so hard to tell the difference when he couldn’t _focus_.

“ **Tim. Tim, can you hear me?** ” He didn’t realize that he was about to fall until hands steadied him. Sasha was beside him, hanging onto his arm, muttering to him in the harsh tones of Infernal. Tim’s first instinct was to lean on her, before he looked down and saw her favoring a badly-bitten leg.

“ **Shit, Sasha**.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, slipping back into Common. “What about you? What just happened? You had that thing in your sights, did it do something to you?”

He gaped at her, shocked. Didn’t she see?

Sasha took in the look on her face and shook her head. “Later—we’ll worry about it later. For now—”

“Protect Martin,” Tim muttered.

She nodded, her eyes stony. “Protect Martin.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. But the feeling of prickling dread turned him not toward the devil, but toward the hell hounds and their intended prey. Tim turned just in time to see Martin drop back, face crumpling as he let Gerry step between him and the hounds. Gerry’s sword swept in a downward arc, carving into the nearest hound, The creature staggered, dark blood spattering the ground beneath it, but it stayed alive and on its feet.

Behind Gerry, Martin clutched at his scarf. His lips moved around words that Tim couldn’t hear, and his eyes glowed with divine power.

The power swept outward, catching Gerry, Sasha, and Tim in it radius. In a split second Tim was lost in the pain, abruptly and unwillingly aware of every single injury on his body, every bruise and burn and bloody gash. In the midst of his awareness, a few of them closed. Not all of them, but enough to clear his head.

The spell had barely ended when the devil’s barbed chain lashed against his back and opened up a few new ones.

“Oh, come on!” Seething, Tim took aim at the worst-wounded hell hound and sent an arrow into the base of its skull. It let out an unholy shriek, staggered to the ground, and fell still.

One down, and the others still looked pretty fresh. Tim calmly nocked another arrow, and turned toward the devil.

It was advancing now, not quickly, but with calm, measured steps. The air thrummed with its whirling chains, and Tim braced himself before one of them lashed out at Sasha, not him. She dodged, enough to avoid dying but not enough to escape it completely. The spiked cluster of metal at the end scored over her shoulder, ripping through cloth and flesh like paper. The fight descended into chaos—the thrum of chains, the roar of hellfire, the clash of metal on metal, the snarls of the surviving hounds—and Tim pulled Sasha along in his retreat to the others.

Martin’s arm was looking marginally better. It was still bloodied, but at least the angle of it wasn’t off anymore. Both his axe and Gerry’s sword were slick with hell hound blood.

“If anyone’s got a bright idea to get out of this, now’s the time to speak up,” Gerry said, while attempting to stab a hell hound in its open mouth. The blow missed, the hound seized the blade in its teeth, and Gerry barely managed to rip it out without losing his weapon.

“Horses are tied up,” Martin said, reaching up to wipe blood from his eyes. “Well, two of them are. Where’s yours?”

“Bolted,” Gerry said tightly. “Dunno where.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck is right,” Sasha said gravely, and sprang forward with hands that glowed. Three shimmering darts burst forth from her palm, trailing sparks as they flew into the devil’s unprotected belly. They burst on impact, one after the other, driving it back with pure magical force.

“Sasha get back!” Martin cried out, but the chain was already flicking out again.

It whipped around her, lashing her as tight as it had Tim. Sasha didn’t have time to cry out before it yanked her off her feet and out of reach from the others. Seeing her trapped and vulnerable, one of the hell hounds whipped around with a snarl and added fire to the mix.

When Sasha hit the ground, she didn’t get up again.

A cocktail of panic and rage churned within Tim. He was barely aware of Gerry going for the hell hounds; his eyes were on the devil and the devil only.

He advanced, deaf to everything but the blood roaring in his ears. He sent out one arrow, then another—and that was fine. He just had to keep the arrows up until the monster was dead, and if it took more arrows than he had in his quiver, then he’d put the bow down and use his sword again.

Whatever was needed, whatever worked, that thing had to _die_.

The devil lashed out at him, once, then twice. Someone was screaming—not him, though. He couldn’t afford to scream. If he had enough breath to scream, then it meant he wasn’t using enough of it to fight.

And then a heavy weight hit him from behind, all blunt nails and snapping teeth and unbearable heat. The hell hound bore him to the ground, pinning him to the blood-spattered grass with his bow trapped beneath him and an arrowhead digging into his side.

He heard the roar and crackle of flame, and smelled flesh burning, and knew no more.

* * *

Gerry saw Tim fall. Even worse, he heard the sound Martin made when he saw it, too.

His eyes were red and raw from flames, but still the scene played out before him with unbearable clarity. The chain devil had released Sasha only because she was already down for the count, but its eyes were still on Tim. Gerry could barely even see the thing’s eyes through the mask of chains on its face, but he knew—he _Knew_ —that it was still looking at Tim.

Even after the hell hound stepped away and Tim lay still, it was looking at Tim as it advanced.

Gerry’s eyes burned when he blinked. When they opened, the chain devil was gone and Mum was standing there, blood-spattered and satisfied, every exposed bit of skin covered in Abyssal and Celestial script. She smiled at him, as cold and inviting as she always was when she had reason to smile at him at all.

Then the Watcher’s gaze sharpened, the vision blurred and fell out of focus, and the devil was a devil once more.

Martin screamed out, hurling holy fire at it, but that could only slow its approach, not stop it entirely. Gerry reached for the well of magic within him, ready to pour it into his sword again, but hesitated. Using the Watcher’s gifts always took so much out of him. How much more could he afford to give, before he was useless and Martin was alone?

The devil stood over Tim’s body, lips curling back in a contemptuous snarl. Its arm drew back, gripping the barbed chain, ready to bring it down on him while he was unconscious and unable to fight back.

 _He’s going to die,_ he thought faintly, and for a moment the Wandering Eye stood still. Waiting.

That was the thing, about warlock pacts and patrons. There were no grand destinies, no chosen ones. They only ever gave what was asked for.

So he asked. Politely, of course. He might even have managed a please.

In an instant, his hands were burning. Then his throat. Then every joint on his body—every spot on his skin where he’d carved and inked an eye into his skin. When he looked down, they were glowing like off-color stars. Then the burn spread to his actual eyes, and he wondered if they were glowing, too.

He could not see Martin, but he Knew that Martin was staring at him. That was no great revelation; it didn’t even feel like the usual tidbit from the Eye. The sky above was gray, the ground below was red, and Martin was staring at him as he stepped forward and spoke.

“Have a look,” he said, not sure where the words were coming from, or if he was speaking to the devil before him, or to the Watcher at his back. “Drink it all in, there’s so much to go around.”

And the devil obeyed. It stopped. It looked.

And then it stepped back.

On some level, Gerry knew that nothing new had entered the battlefield. He knew that he and Martin were the only ones left standing, their companions unconscious, the other travelers long fled. But still he felt the weight of it at his back—the Watcher in all its glory, drinking in the horror before it with an all-consuming thirst. It was There in a way that it hadn’t been before, for all that Gerry carried it with him everywhere he went.

Before him, the hell hound whined, heads lowering as they backed away.

Maybe that should concern him, that the entity he’d tied himself to was powerful enough to make fiends tuck tail. But that was a worry for another time.

“Gerard?” Behind him, Martin was injured but still on his feet. “What did you do?”

“Not sure I’m doing anything,” Gerry admitted. “Think this is mostly the Eye.”

Martin limped forward to stand with him. “How long will this last?”

“Dunno. So we should probably make every second count.” Gerry kept his eyes on the devil. It seemed torn, hesitant but just as bloodthirsty and malicious as before. “How many spells do you have left in you?”

“A few,” said Martin. “Not a lot. But I can fling sacred fire at it pretty much indefinitely.”

Gerry pursed his lips. “Wouldn’t rely too much on that if I were you. Chain devils are resistant to certain spells.”

“Great,” Martin spat.

“Can you heal them, at least?”

Martin hesitated.

“…Yes or no—”

“I can heal all of us, just a little bit, with one spell,” Martin replied. “Just enough to wake them up, but not enough to keep them up. Or, I can heal one of them enough that maybe they can survive another hit or two.”

“And the one you don’t heal?”

Martin pressed his lips together. “I can stabilize them. It won’t cost me anything.”

“Right then.” Gerry allowed himself one more second of hesitation. “Heal Sasha.”

Martin didn’t argue, which meant he probably understood why. Normal weapons didn’t do much against the devil, and Sasha knew more offensive spells.

The hell hounds snarled at Martin’s approach, but with the Eye glaring down on them there wasn’t much else they were willing to do. Martin reached Sasha’s side with a healing spell at the ready, moving on to Tim as soon as she stirred. Tim didn’t wake up at Martin’s touch, but as Gerry watched, his chest settled into a steady rhythm of rise and fall. Sasha, after scrambling to her feet and eyeing the stalled fiends, helped Martin drag him out of the hounds’ and the devil’s reach.

She still looked awful, but she was awake and on her feet, rapier in hand. The look on her face was bleak. “Any chance we can run?”

“Even if we had all our horses, the hounds would run them down before we got enough distance,” Martin said grimly. “We have to kill these things. How’s your magic?”

“Low,” Sasha said grimly. “But I know a cantrip that can do some damage.”

“Well, get ready to use it,” Gerry told her. He could feel the Eye fading, and the hell hounds were starting to perk up again. “I think we’re just about out of time.”

The devil charged, chains swinging, hounds snarling at its feet.

The barbed weight at the end of the chain caught Gerry with a glancing blow to the shoulder. He sprang to one side, dodging the jaws of a hell hound, and brought his sword chopping down on the back of its neck. It moved at the last moment, preventing him from beheading it, but he laid open a gash across its shoulders. Just a beat behind him, Sasha reached out and grabbed the back of its skull. Gerry was close enough to see and hear the lightning crackle at her fingertips, right as the hound gave a howl of pain. When Sasha pulled back, she left it with a handprint of burned flesh.

The fight became a blur from there—dodging chains and teeth, swinging his sword at whatever he could reach, keeping an eye on the others in case someone else dropped. He stayed close to Sasha, drawing the attention off her so that she could throw her magic freely. Another hell hound dropped dead with Martin’s axe lodged in its skull, and the last howled in desperate fury until Sasha’s rapier blade went straight down its throat.

For a moment, Gerry let himself hope—there was still the devil, but by now it was bleeding just as heavily as any of them. Another swing of the chains forced them to separate. Gerry dropped back, mind racing as he tried to see a path around to flank the thing that wouldn’t kill him instantly. Martin summoned more radiant flames, and Sasha shot it once more with her missile spell. They both struck home, sending the fiend back a step.

Its lips curled back, showing sharp teeth and mottled black-and-red gums. The chain swung, glancing off Martin’s chest before it struck Sasha full on and flung her several feet back. With a flick of the wrist, the devil snapped it back and around again, straight for Martin again as he stood protectively over Tim.

Gerry didn’t think. He never did, when it came to this kind of thing.

In his defense, it wasn’t meant to be a sacrifice play. He went in blade first, hoping to deflect it. But the weighted end curved strangely, missing his sword and snapping tight around him. Before Gerry had time to cry out, it wrenched him forward and off his feet, barbs digging deep. With a low roar, the devil dragged him closer over the bloody ground. His vision shrank, blackness creeping around the edges in a dark tunnel.

Through it, he saw Sasha racing forward, rapier drawn. With the chain binding Gerry, there was nothing to stop her from reaching the devil and striking hard. To Gerry’s faint surprise, the blade slid in all the way to the hilt, and when she yanked it out, the wound stayed. Dark, viscous blood dripped down the blade. Beneath it, the metal flashed oddly.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Of course a tiefling would know better than to leave the house without a silvered weapon.

Gerry struggled up, tearing at the barbed links with his free hand, but a ruthless yank on the chain dragged him back to the ground. His thoughts slowed, but he continued to claw at his bonds until the chain was slick with his own blood.

The Eye crept back in to watch him twitch and struggle. It was enough to make him fight harder out of spite.

At least there was an upside to the Eye’s apparent interest in his bloody struggle. It meant that, when he finally ripped himself free, his magic was within easy reach. Only the dregs were left, but it was enough.

He poured every last bit of it into his sword, and the last of his strength into a swing.

As the spiked chain hit him one last time, the Eye helpfully informed him that the devil was still alive and standing. It was his last thought before everything went dark.

* * *

When Gerry hit the ground and went still, fear gripped Sasha so utterly that she couldn’t think. The sight of it froze her in place, rapier nearly slipping from nerveless fingers. Tim was down. Gerry was down. If she took another hit, she’d be down again too, and then Martin—

Another bolt of divine light lit the air, punching into the devil’s bloodied chest. It stumbled back, slipping on the slick grass. It’s jaws parted, and it roared in fury one last time before Martin’s axe whirled through the air and landed, blade first, in the base of its throat.

The roar became a low, liquidy groan. The devil staggered, chain slipping from its hand with a deafening clatter. It took a step, then another, and finally pitched forward to the ground and lay still.

The plains fell silent.

Sasha stood frozen for what felt like a full minute. When she finally gathered the wherewithal to at least turn her head, she took in what was left of the battlefield. The ground was torn up, scorched, and streaked with blood. Martin stood over Tim, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, as blood continued to trickle down his arms and face. Beyond, she could see shapes moving in the distance. Wagons, horses and people, all at a safe distance from the battle. Apparently, their fight had retained an audience.

Martin moved first, limping away from Tim to where Gerry lay crumpled and still. His hand glowed faintly as it settled on Gerry’s shoulder, and moments later Sasha could see him steadily breathing.

Inching toward the dead devil was one of the stupidest or bravest things Sasha had ever done. It took an additional gallon of nerves just to take hold of the axe handle, grip it tight, and pull it free. The sound the axe blade made as it left the devil’s neck was probably going to feature in a few nightmares, going forward. She left it and her rapier in the grass for now—they could clean them later.

The horses were still tied up by the water trough, in spite of their best efforts to pull free. They danced around nervously at Sasha’s approach, but she managed to reach the saddlebags and dig out a couple of healing potions. When she turned around, there were people approaching; the other travelers had seen the fiends die, and were returning. The man in the front was leading Gerry’s horse by the bridle.

Martin rose to meet them, still liberally spattered with blood. The man in front hesitated, flinching at the sight of him before he offered the reins.

“Found your horse.” When Martin took the reins from him, he looked slightly ill; Martin’s hands were stained with hell hound blood.

“Thanks,” Martin said simply. “We appreciate it.”

The group left quickly after that. Sasha couldn’t bring herself to blame them.

Sasha carefully tipped a healing potion down Tim’s throat, while Martin administered the other to Gerry. Tim woke with a start, gripping Sasha’s arm so tight he threatened to leave a mark.

“ _Sasha_ —”

“It’s over,” she said, running a soothing hand through his hair. “It’s over, we won. We’re alright, Tim.”

He relaxed, somewhat. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’re all alive.” She pulled him into a hug, suddenly fighting back the urge to cry. “We’re all okay.”

Across from them, Gerry was sitting up, head hanging low. Martin crouched beside him with a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

Eventually, they all got to their feet. The bodies of the devil and hounds were decaying rapidly, bodies drying up and crumbling as they watched. Even the chains were rusting before their eyes. In a matter of minutes, they would be dust.

They didn’t stick around to watch it happen.

Night was falling when they caught up to the wagon train from before. The group had set up an encampment some distance from the road—shelters were set up, fires were lit, and informal sentries were posted.

When the four of them joined it, setting up their own camp at a respectful distance, no one came over to object.

* * *

It was instinct that woke Gerry, far more than the aches that plagued his entire body.

More to the point, what woke him was not Martin, in spite of the arrangement agreed upon. When Gerry raised his head and blinked until his bleary vision settled, Martin was still sitting up at his post. The moon was well past the point at which his watch should have been over.

Gerry sat up, wincing. The healing potion had done its work, and his wounds were on the mend. But it still hurt. Martin had promised healing spells for all of them once he rested and his magic replenished itself, but that wasn’t going to happen if he didn’t actually _rest_.

Unwillingly, he remembered how close the devil’s chain had come to wrapping around Martin’s unprotected throat. A weapon like that, wielded by a creature that strong, would have no trouble tearing a man’s head from his shoulders. But it hadn’t, and now his body protested whenever he moved the muscles that the barbs had torn into instead.

Worth it.

By his reckoning, there was maybe an hour left before dawn—hopefully enough time to salvage his turn on sentry duty. If Martin didn’t bite his head off for offering, of course. As silently as he could, Gerry disentangled himself from his bedroll and skirted Tim and Sasha to join him.

Martin didn’t move as he approached, even though he made no effort to quiet his footsteps. “You know, it’s a shame,” Gerry murmured as he sat down beside him. “Considering everyone’s asleep but you, I was hoping I might hear you sing again.”

Martin was wide awake, still watching the camp’s surroundings, and the dim light of the neighboring camp’s banked fires. “Go back to sleep, Gerard.”

“Thought I told you to call me Gerry.” There was no reply. “Besides, that’s not how this works. It’s my turn to keep watch for bandits—and hell hounds, apparently. You’re the one who needs the rest.”

“You’re injured.”

“So’re you. I’m on the mend anyway. A few hours of sitting still won’t set me back.” Gerry waited for Martin to answer. He didn’t. “What’s this about, Martin?”

“I really don’t see how it can get any simpler.” Martin still wouldn’t look at him. “You’re injured. You should rest.”

“And I’ll say it again, we’re _all_ injured. I didn’t see you bullying them into letting you stay up all night.” Still nothing. “Besides, we’re healed.”

“Not enough.”

“Like that’s your fault?” Gerry scoffed. “So you ran out of magic. It happens. Healing potions do the job. Tim and Sasha were worse off anyway, I didn’t get knocked out until the end.”

Martin’s silence said far more than words would have.

“Is… that what this is about?” Gerry asked. “Me, getting knocked out at the end? That thing was aiming at you, and it got me instead, and… what? You feel guilty, now?”

More stubborn, informative silence.

“Can’t imagine why,” Gerry said lightly. “You don’t even like me.”

It shouldn’t have bothered him. It was honestly a little embarrassing that it did. People didn’t like Gerry all the time, but in spite of everything, he _really_ wished that Martin would.

“Well, your plan’s backfired, anyway,” said Gerry. “I’m awake now, I’m not going back to sleep, and you may as well catch a few last-minute winks. You’re the best healer, after all. You’re no use to us dead on your feet.”

Martin didn’t move from his spot, not even to turn his head. His silence continued to soak the air around him, surrounding him like a heavy fog.

“Alright then,” Gerry said, settling beside him. “Guess we’re both here. A couple of assholes sitting around in the dark, watching for goblins and bandits and what have you. Should be fun. I spy with my little eye—”

“Can I ask you something?”

Gerry blinked. “Pretty sure you just did, but I’ll give you a second one for free.”

Slowly, Martin shifted around to look at him at last. Gerry tried not to fidget; Martin’s full attention wasn’t always a comfortable thing. Something about the eyes. Felt a bit like being a specimen pinned to corkboard, to be perfectly honest. Maybe that was why he kept his eyes down so often.

“Why’d you make a pact with the Ceaseless Watcher?”

Ah.

“Straight in, aren’t we,” Gerry said, tilting his head to one side. “Why d’you want to know? Still trying to work out what sort of warlock I am? Wondering if I’ll start speaking in tongues? Coughing up spiders? Shedding the flesh right off my bones?”

Martin was already turning away. “If you’re not going to answer, then—”

“Alright, alright, _fine_.” Gerry sighed. “Just—it’s a bit personal, you know? And… sudden? We barely get along and suddenly you’re asking me point-blank why I cut a deal with an unknowable entity of fearful knowledge.”

“I just…” Martin’s face took on a pinched look. “I’ve been wondering, ever since you told us. And I’ve spent all this time coming up with conclusions of my own, and none of them are very nice, so… might as well get the truth instead of continuing to embarrass myself.”

“Fair enough.” Gerry hesitated. “It’s just—gods, it was stupid. You’ll absolutely think it was stupid.”

Martin’s face did not confirm or deny.

“I was in a bad spot,” Gerry went on. “You can probably guess why. I’ve been in a bad spot since I was a kid, pretty much. I told you how my mum—my human mum, in case that wasn’t clear—had all these grand ideas when she had me. When Dad stopped fitting into them, she killed him, took me, and ran off to fulfill her dreams on her own.” He paused again. “Not very nice dreams, in case you didn’t guess. She always wanted power, but wasn’t interested in the work and responsibility that went into getting it. It’s why she married my dad, actually—he was pretty high up in Syngorn politics, but when it turned out that marrying him didn’t make _us_ anything, she cut her losses, and his throat.”

Gerry took a deep breath. “She had the same approach to magic. Liked shortcuts. It led to some… interesting acquaintances. Less said about them, the better. And by the time I was old enough to want nothing to do with it… well, she wasn’t about to let me go. Turns out, if you give a mad sorceress a lot of power, she’ll want a dynasty to go with it.”

He found himself reaching for the amulet again, toying with it absently. “I kept running. I wanted to leave it all behind, but—I couldn’t forget what I saw, growing up with her. And I couldn’t _not_ see it, whenever it cropped up around me again. I couldn’t _not_ get involved, because this world’s full of people who wander straight into some hungry mouth because they just don’t _know_ , and if I don’t tell them, who will? And suddenly I was deep in the same shit she was, just… from a different direction. And that made it easier for her to keep finding me.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “Tried going back to Syngorn. Thought I’d meet some of Dad’s old friends, see if they could help, but… well. None of them wanted to deal with me. Apparently I look a lot like my mum. Got my dad’s ears, though. Ha.”

He shot a glance at Martin, trying to gauge his reaction. Martin was giving very little away, but at least he was paying attention and not interrupting.

“Reached the end of my rope eventually,” Gerry went on. “You can only run so long before it stops feeling worth it. I always thought I’d wind up dead in an acid pit somewhere. But instead… something reached out to me.”

He stopped.

This was the hard part. All the stuff before that—that was easy. That was just his life. But this was new, and strange, and he’d never had to explain it before, not to anyone who’s opinion mattered.

“You’d think, after everything, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to enter a pact. To be honest, sometimes I’m not sure _why_ either. It just… it felt different.”

“Different how?” Martin asked.

“Just— _gods you’ll think it’s stupid_ —”

“How did it feel?” Martin asked.

“I dunno. Bad?” Gerry’s fingers curled into fists at the memory. “It felt _bad_.”

Martin frowned. “And that was different?”

“Yeah.” Gerry let out a shaky laugh. “That’s the thing about—about archfey and demon lords and devil princes and whatever the _fuck_ is going on in the Far Realms. They want to draw you in. They want to give you a reason to say yes. First impressions are very important, and they know damn well how to make a good impression.”

“And the Ceaseless Watcher didn’t?”

“Guess not.”

“Hm.” For the first time, Martin looked thoughtful. “So… if it was bad, then why did you say yes? Just because it was different?”

“Because it was _honest_. Because if I’m gonna throw in with an unknowable entity of malevolence and chaos, I might as well pick one that isn’t gonna bullshit me about what I’m getting into. And besides, it wasn’t bad like it was painful. Well, I guess it was painful in a way, it was just—” He pursed his lips.

Martin waited.

“It’s hard to put into words,” Gerry went on. “Being touched by something that thrives on pain and suffering. But it was like—imagine there’s a wall around every single person in the world. And behind that wall is everything that goes on in their heads—thoughts, feelings, messy stuff. And that wall is the only thing keeping those things back. Keeping everyone’s mess separate.” He took a deep breath. “Now imagine you’re in the middle of a crowd of people, and every one of them has had everything they ever loved ripped apart in front of them. And all at once, the walls come down.” His nails bit into his palms. “That was what it felt like, when the Watcher reached out to me.”

For a moment, all he could hear was Martin’s shaky breathing.

“I still don’t know how it found me,” Gerry went on. “If it was chance, or if it planned it somehow. But I was alone, and afraid, and I needed help, and there it was. And maybe I should’ve ignored it. Maybe I should’ve just soldiered on, learned magic the right way. Maybe I should’ve thrown in with a real god, like you.”

“But you didn’t,” Martin said softly.

“But I didn’t.”

After a moment, Martins spoke again. “I don’t think that’s stupid.”

“That’s not the stupid part. Want to hear the stupid part?” Without waiting for an answer, he pushed ahead. “I couldn’t say no because for the first time in my life, there was something out there that felt just as miserable and depressing as I was.” His voice cracked as he laughed. “And it was the first time anything was honest with me about how much it would hurt to let it help, so I made a pact. Did my best with it. I told it I’d take its power, its protection, whatever it was going to give me, and I’d take any consequences that came with it, as long as it understood that I was the only one who would. I wasn’t gonna make any one else suffer for me, and if it didn’t like that then it could _piss off_.”

He shrugged. “It didn’t. And here I am.”

He let that hang in the air between them, as it was slowly absorbed into the miasma of silence around Martin.

“So that’s it,” he said. “I said yes because I was sad and desperate, and misery loves company. Maybe that was why it accepted my terms, because it knew how desperate and alone I was.” He paused, sending a sidelong glance at Martin again, and added, “You know, sometimes you remind me of that, a bit. How it felt.”

Martin frowned. “I’m not sad.”

“Yeah you are,” Gerry replied. “You don’t sit and moan and weep about it, but it’s there. Maybe you don’t notice it, but I do. Maybe the others do too, I dunno.” Martin looked away. “It’s just this… this pit of quicksand in the middle of the room that everyone skirts around, because if you’re not careful it’ll suck in everything else.” He tilted his head to the side again. “But there you are, puttering around with tea and healing spells, making sure no one steps in your muck. Fucking incredible. Don’t know how you do it.”

Martin jerked around to look at him again, eyes widening, and then—

Oh. Gods, that was a nice smile. A sad one, but… maybe sad things could be nice, too.

“Guess I don’t like people suffering because of me, either,” Martin said quietly.

“Knew there was a reason I liked you.” Gerry rearranged himself again until he was facing east. It was still dark, but he was beginning to see the first threads of gold on the horizon. He sat back, leaning on his hands. “There’s still some time for sleep, if you need it.”

“I’ll be alright,” Martin assured him. “Besides, I always liked watching the sunrise.”

Gerry grinned. “Any chance of a song this morning?”

“You don’t have to make fun,” Martin grumbled. “I know I’m not that good.”

“Says who? You sound perfectly lovely—”

“Oh, not you too,” Martin groaned, only to cut himself off at the last minute. Gerry glanced at him with a thoughtful frown, tucking the moment away to consider later.

The silence settled again, no longer a miasma around Martin but a comfortable blanket shared between the two of them. Together they watched the first threads of morning brighten, stretch, and touch the plains.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a nightmare sequence that features mild gore and body horror.

The morning after he was almost killed by fiends, Tim woke to an odd sight.

Sasha was asleep, having taken second watch after Tim. Martin’s shift had been after Sasha’s, and Gerry’s after Martin’s, but both of them were awake. Tim couldn’t tell whether they were talking or simply sitting together, almost shoulder to shoulder, by the banked fire. Either way, it was peaceful. Comfortable, even. Maybe even friendly.

He sat up, biting back a groan when his body protested, and watched as Gerry looked over, then nudged Martin to get his attention. When did they get so chummy? He hadn’t been unconscious that long, had he?

Martin was getting up and making his way over. “Got enough magic in you for a healing spell or two?” Tim asked, shaking Sasha awake.

Martin cast one in answer, and Tim clenched his teeth around the slight discomfort that usually came with one of Martin’s spells. His aches and pains eased, and after a moment Sasha sat up and started fingercombing her hair around her horns.

“Are you two alright?’ Martin asked, somewhere between anxious and relieved.

Tim looked over, and found Sasha already looking back. He recognized the look of steely determination in her eyes, and sighed. “We’re alive. But.”

Martin’s expression wavered. “But?”

“But we need to talk.” Sasha’s eyes were on Martin now, steady and hard.

For his part, Martin didn’t seem particularly nervous, or confused, or even all that surprised. Quite the opposite, actually. He looked resigned, like he’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Can we eat first?” he asked wearily. Without waiting for an answer, he wandered back to the fire.

“Think he speaks Infernal after all?” Sasha asked under her breath. “He must, if he expected this.”

“Dunno. He didn’t bring it up in Swain’s bookshop.”

“Nobody asked,” Sasha pointed out. “Swain only asked me because I’m a tiefling.”

“Well, the devil was shouting it pretty loud. I didn’t see him react, did you?”

Sasha finished messing with her hair. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Gerry was looking quite a bit less dead than he had been yesterday. Even after a healing potion, he’d looked seconds away from passing out all over again. But now he was wide awake as he stoked the embers back to a proper fire, scooting over so that Martin could hang the kettle over it.

Tim took a seat nearby, helped pass around the breakfast rations, and waited for the fussing to be over. Sasha sat by him and made it to the end of Martin’s usual morning tea-preparation ritual without demanding answers, which was a level of restraint that Tim rarely saw in her.

But it could only last so long. As soon as Martin put tea in her hands, she broke the silent, growing tension. “So.”

Gerry glanced up, frowning, while Martin continued to fuss with the kettle. “You wanted to talk,” said Martin.

“Actually, I think you’re the one who needs to be talking right now,” Sasha said coolly.

“Um,” said Gerry.

Martin took a deep breath. “Dare I ask, about what?”

“Hey,” Tim said sharply. “I thought we agreed already that we’d quit keeping secrets that affect everybody.”

Martin flinched. “Would that have helped?”

“What d’you mean _would that have helped_ —”

“Even if I had any way of knowing this would happen,” Martin went on, with infuriating calm. “What were any of us supposed to do to stop it?”

“I really don’t think—” Gerry began.

“So you did know,” Sasha cut in.

“I just said I didn’t!”

“Hey!” Gerry barked. “What is going on? Why are you shouting at us?”

“We’re not shouting at you, just at Martin,” Sasha assured him, which wasn’t actually that reassuring.

“Well then why are we shouting at Martin?”

“I’d actually like to know that, as well,” Martin said hesitantly.

“Don’t pretend to be surprised _now_ ,” Tim snapped.

“Just because I’m not surprised doesn’t mean I know exactly what brought this on!” Martin retorted.

He flinched back as soon as he said it, as if caught off guard by the volume of his own voice. He looked away again, and Tim followed his gaze to the other camp within the circle of wagons. There was movement there as well, but nowhere near enough to overhear.

Seeing that, Martin turned back to them with a sigh, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “So what’s this really about?” he asked.

“The chain devil,” Tim gritted out. “Yesterday. Sasha and I heard it clear as day—the hounds went for the rest of us, and the devil told them to go for _you_.”

“Wait—” Gerry shot a quick glance at Martin, less angry than just confused. “What? Are you sure?”

“It spoke to them in Infernal,” Sasha explained. “Hell hounds can’t speak, but they have enough brains to do what they’re told. It said ‘save the meat for later, kill the cleric.’ Couldn’t get much clearer than that.”

Instead of explaining himself, Martin simply shut his eyes.

Anger welled up within Tim too quickly to bother trying to shove it back down. “I spilled my _guts_ to you,” he snarled. “And so did Gerry. And you couldn’t even bother to warn us before a bunch of _hellspawn_ almost killed us?”

“Hey,” Gerry said sharply. “You want to be angry about this, fine. But you don’t get to decide that I’m angry too.”

“I didn’t know,” Martin broke in before Tim could reply. “You can believe me or not, but I didn’t know I had fiends after me. I swear I would’ve told you if I’d known.”

“I _don’t_ believe you,” Tim informed him. “The second Sasha and I opened our mouths this morning, you knew what we were going to say. You didn’t even bother pretending to be surprised. Why play dumb now?”

“I’m _not_ —look, I didn’t know it was going to be _fiends_ —”

“Martin,” Sasha broke in again, just as Martin’s eyes were starting to shine. “Maybe, instead of telling us what you did or didn’t know, you could tell us what’s going on, instead.”

Martin turned away briefly, his jaw shifting as he clenched his teeth. Then, all at once, the tension left him, less out of relief than resignation. “Okay,” he said quietly. “And I’m _sorry_. I swear I didn’t think this would happen. I would’ve gone on my own from the start if I had.”

“Then why did it?” Tim asked.

Martin took a deep breath. “Because I’m not a cleric of Ioun,” he said in a rush. “I don’t serve the Knowing Mistress and I never have.”

“Oh, great start,” Sasha muttered.

“The closest I’ve come to serving one of the Prime Deities was Pelor,” Martin went on hesitantly. “That was when I was younger and my mum had ideas, but it never went anywhere. I-I actually don’t know all that much about religion…”

He paused, as if giving the others time to speak, but no one had anything to say just yet.

“But I’m still a cleric,” he went on. He reached into his pocket and drew out his little rune stone, which he played with to busy his fidgeting hands. “It’s just that the god that I _do_ follow is new. Very new. Enough to have a very tenuous position in… well, everything.” He looked at them, briefly, before continuing to stare down into his cooling tea. “So, yes, it makes sense that I’d have a target on my back. I just didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

“That’s why you want to get to Vasselheim,” Sasha murmured. “It’s protected.”

“Seems risky to me,” Tim said gruffly. “Hiding out in Vasselheim when you serve a _tenuous_ god.”

Martin shook his head. “Vasselheim takes all types,” he said. “Worshippers of old and new gods. Warlocks. As long as you’re not trying to conquer the city for whoever you serve, they care more about their own surviving and worshiping than policing everyone else’s.” Steeling himself, he looked up at them again. “And I really am meeting friends there anyway—I wasn’t lying about that part.”

“So then who?” Sasha asked. “If your god’s not the Knowing Mistress, who is it?”

Rather than answer right away, Martin exhaled slowly. “That’s, um, it’s the funniest thing,” he said, though by the look on his face he didn’t find it very funny. “The name most people use is the Ceaseless Watcher.”

Gerry choked on his tea.

“Or the Eye,” Martin went on, right back to avoiding their eyes. “The Beholding. The Wandering Eye. It-Knows-You—always thought that one was poetic.”

“Wait,” Gerry rasped.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tim broke in. “Gerry said the Ceaseless Watcher is his patron, and he’s a warlock.”

“I’ve heard that gods can take warlocks,” Sasha said thoughtfully. “I know the Raven Queen does, sometimes.”

“So it _is_ a god.” Gerry’s voice was flat, his face carefully blank. “It’s really…”

“What did you think the Beholding was?” Martin asked. He didn’t say it like a jab, like Gerry was stupid for not knowing it. As far as Tim could tell, it was an honest question.

“Wasn’t sure, to be honest,” Gerry admitted. “I had suspicions, but… well, for a god of terrifying knowledge, it’s not exactly forthcoming about itself.”

“So, wait,” said Sasha. “This doesn’t explain why someone sent fiends after you.” She looked to Gerry. “I thought the Watcher—I mean, no offense, but I thought it was kind of… bad news.”

Gerry shrugged. “It’s an entity of—sorry, I guess it’s a _god_ of fear. Either way, it exists to bear witness to horror and suffering. So, yes. In a very literal sense, it _is_ bad news.”

“Exactly, so… gods, this raises so many questions!” Sasha put her cup down roughly, heedless of the tea sloshing over the sides. “So it’s a new god, great. Where did it come from? Why? If it’s an evil god then why are fiends trying to kill its cleric?”

“I… _think_ the answer to the first question is human sacrifice,” Gerry said, shooting a glance at Martin for confirmation. “Right? Like I said, it’s not exactly forthcoming, but I gathered that much.”

Martin nodded, his face rigid.

“Oh, _great_ ,” Tim said acidly. “Human sacrifice, of course.”

“Well, what else do you think would summon a god of fear into our planar system?” Gerry asked. “Entities like that can’t exist without a whole lot of suffering. As for why, it’s usually the same—someone or a group of someones wants power, and they don’t care who they have to chew through to get it.”

“Then why the _fiends_ ,” Sasha repeated. “And why, Martin, _why_ in the Nine Hells are you serving it?”

All at once, Martin’s timid hunch uncurled. “I’m _not,_ ” he said forcefully. “Believe me, I’m not—it’s hard to explain, exactly, I may be a cleric but I don’t—I don’t _serve_ anything. That’s not what I’m about.”

“Then what are you about?” Tim pressed.

Martin took a moment before continuing, breathing carefully until his voice steadied. “The— the _Beholding,_ ” Martin went on, sounding out the word like it hurt to say, like he was afraid of saying it. “It shouldn’t have been—it shouldn’t exist. And I didn’t—this isn’t something I wanted. But someone had to do _something_ , and—and there wasn’t anyone else but me. As far as I know, there still isn’t. So I’m going to Vasselheim, where there are people who can help me, people who might—who might know how to fix this.” He paused, took off his glasses, and polished them like he was trying to rub the lenses down to nothing. “And in the meantime, someone wanted—someone _wants_ very badly for the Beholding to exist, and if they know that I’m trying to ruin their work, then—well that’s probably where the fiends came from.”

For a moment, Gerry’s hand hung in the air between them, before wringing helplessly and dropping back to his side.

Tim could only stare. There were a number of things he might have expected out of this. This was not one of them. “So you—” He stopped, still finding his voice. “You became a cleric of a god you’re trying to kill?”

“Not—not really _kill_ , just… p-put a stop to?”

Gerry shook his head. “This isn’t the sort of being you kill,” he said quietly.

“I had to try,” said Martin. “I _had_ to.”

“I know I’m just asking the same question over and over,” Sasha said. “But _why?_ ”

“Because a lot of people suffered to make all of this happen,” Martin replied. “And if something isn’t done, then a lot more people _will_ suffer. This… I didn’t want this, but there’s someone—there are people I need to protect, and this is the only way I know how. I’m not doing this for me.”

Tim bit his lip. “Your mother?” he asked cautiously.

A bitter smile flickered across Martin’s face. “No. None of this ever touched her, far as I know.”

“Your friends, then?” said Sasha. “Your nosy half-elf friend in Vasselheim?”

For a moment, the smile softened to something shaky and fragile. “I’m looking forward to seeing them again.”

When no more questions followed, he took a deep breath. “So? Are you satisfied?”

Tim tried prodding at his anger again, but somewhere in the midst of all the revelations, it had dulled and burned down. He wasn’t happy, but his temper had utterly deflated. He sighed. “This really seems like something that should’ve come up back in Westruun.”

Martin shrugged. “I didn’t think it would come up until Vasselheim, and by then it wouldn’t matter.”

“That’s still not a good reason.”

“Fine,” Martin sighed. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. If you want to leave, I can probably—”

Sasha held up her hand. “I’m going to stop you right there,” she said. “Don’t forget that we’ve got our own reasons to go to Vasselheim. We’re not ducking out just yet.”

“We’re not ducking out _provided_ that you’ve told us everything,” Tim corrected.

Martin looked exhausted. “Everything that’s not excruciatingly personal.”

“Guess it’ll have to do,” said Sasha. She swiped her cup, downed the last of her tea in a few quick swallows, and stood up wiping her mouth. “We’d better break camp.”

Tim was slower to get to his feet, keeping an eye on Martin as he rose. He looked exhausted, both physically and mentally, and his eyes were red-rimmed from holding back tears. In spite of himself, Tim couldn’t help pitying him.

He knew what it was like, didn’t he. Carrying a mess like that on your shoulders, not wanting to share it around. But at the same time, the thought still stung—that Martin kept his mouth shut after Tim tore himself open to tell them about Danny.

He turned away, with a quiet sigh. No point in dwelling. It was out now, for both of them, and not a moment too soon. All they could do was keep dodging fiends until they were stepping through Vasselheim’s gates.

He hoped like hell that would be enough.

* * *

As Tim and Sasha moved off, Gerry let out the breath he’d been holding.

It didn’t help much with his nerves. Over the course of the conversation his heartbeat had, very slowly, come down from its rabbit-quick pace, and the leftover blood coursing in his veins left him feeling equal parts faint and far too alert. With the tension defused and tempers momentarily eased, he was left hanging.

Martin was turning away, grabbing his abandoned cup of tea. With a mental lurch forward, Gerry finally caught up with himself right as Martin was about to chuck it.

“So—this whole time,” he said, startling Martin by accident. “We’ve both been walking around on the same god’s leash.”

With a sigh, Martin gave his lukewarm drink one last indecisive glance before knocking it back in one swig.

“I guess this sort of fits in with how much you didn’t like me at the start,” Gerry went on, noting when a look of discomfort crossed Martin’s face. “Weird, that. Sort of makes more _and_ less sense at the same time.”

“Gerry,” Martin began.

“You could’ve said something. That’s all.” He kept the hurt out of his voice. No point letting Martin hear that. Hurt feelings weren’t much use, not when there were more important things to to think about. “But at the same time… I get why you didn’t. You’re trying to fight an evil god, I serve the same evil god—”

“I just didn’t know what it meant,” Martin said quietly.

“Guess I should be thankful you didn’t jump straight to knifing me.” Gerry crossed his arms, hiding the way his hands balled into fists.

Martin shrugged. “Just because I was suspicious didn’t mean I was sure,” he said. “Some of the kindest, bravest people I’ve ever met thumbed their noses at gods, or looked at divine patronage like—like a business transaction instead of a devotion. And some of the paladins I’ve met have been the biggest pricks.”

Gerry snorted. “Think that’s just how paladins are,” he said. “I don’t know much about them, but I do know that.”

“Maybe.”

In the silence that followed, Gerry cautiously probed at his own connection. It wasn’t a fraction as noticeable as it had been the previous day. The Eye always sharpened its focus whenever he was in a fight, and at the moment he could barely feel its usual weight. He could only assume that meant the Eye was focused elsewhere.

Good.

“So… what exactly is your plan?” Gerry asked. When Martin didn’t answer, he added, “Not like I’m planning on snitching or anything.”

“Don’t really think it matters,” Martin said wryly. “God of dread knowledge and exposed secrets, and all that. Would probably find out whether you snitched or not.”

“Sad but true,” Gerry agreed.

“Not that it matters,” Martin went on. “It’s not like I started out with some grand design. I need help, and that’s why my next step is getting to Vasselheim.”

“Never mind what you’re doing next,” said Gerry. “What about where you started? How’s becoming a cleric of the bloody thing supposed to help you get rid of it?”

Martin shrugged. “It’s a god of dread knowledge and exposed secrets, like you said. Maybe somewhere in all that is the way to put things right again.”

“That sounds… _incredibly_ risky,” Gerry informed him. “You realize that, right? I mean, using a dark god’s source of power against it _sounds_ very impressive and poetic, but in practice it’s a bit… how should I put this…”

“Hubristic?”

Gerry blinked. “That’s a word?”

“I was just as surprised as you are,” Martin said with a shrug. Gerry bit back the laugh, but not the grin.

His smile faded after a moment, as he remembered the issue at hand. “Martin.”

“Yeah?”

“I have to ask—are fiends the only thing after you?” Gerry asked. “And I’m not talking about the Clasp. I mean _you_ , specifically, and for the same reason as that devil.”

Martin hesitated a little too long. “Why?”

Because we wandered into a fey revel not too long ago,” Gerry reminded him. “Dunno if you remember, you were spelled at the time, but the troupe master spoke to us that night. She said, ‘There you are.’ And she wasn’t looking at me.”

“Oh.” Martin’s mouth tightened. “Of _course_ she wasn’t.”

“So you’ve got denizens from multiple planes after you,” said Gerry. “And on top of that, you’re picking a fight with a god—and not just any god, but the one god that’s the only reason either of us have any spells to our names.”

Without warning, Martin’s expression shuttered. It was sudden enough to be alarming. “I’ve made my choices,” he said. “I know it’s not what you signed up for, and I’m sorry about that, I really am.” He shook his head and turned away. “We should get moving. I said I’d help you get to Vasselheim, and the sooner I do that, the better.”

“Wait, me? Me, in particular?” Gerry darted around to keep pace with him. “Why’s it sound like you’re about to wash your hands of me?”

Martin shot a bewildered look at him. “Me? What about _you?_ I just told you I’m planning on taking away the one thing that’s protecting you.”

“And?”

“And, I get it if you want to be gone as soon as you have the chance—”

“What is it with all of you and deciding how I feel about things this morning?” Gerry demanded.

Martin paused, staring at him in mute shock.

“Hey!” Sasha called over. “Are you two gonna get a move on, or what?”

“In a second!” Gerry shouted back. She did have a point, though—she and Tim were nearly finished already. He turned back to Martin, who was still staring at him like he was seeing him for the first time.

Martin’s face cycled through emotions, and for a terrifying moment Gerry thought he was about to cry. But then he settled, and blinked a few times, and his breathing evened out.

“I cast Augury before we left the Silvercut Crossroads,” he said. “Did we tell you that?”

“You might have mentioned it?” Gerry said uncertainly.

“We had two options, to get to Emon from there,” Martin went on. “We could take the straightest path west, or we could go south through Kymal and add days to the journey.”

“And you took the long way.”

“I rolled the dice,” said Martin. “Four ones for the short path. Two and two for the long way. And after yesterday, I think I finally understand why.”

He turned away to start packing again, but Gerry stopped him. “Wait—what do you mean?”

“Just thinking.” Martin met his eyes again, and the earnestness there made it hard to look back. “We barely survived that, between the four of us. And those fiends would’ve found us no matter where we were. If we’d gone straight west, we’d have met them without you.”

He didn’t elaborate beyond that, but his eyes said enough on their own. For the life of him, Gerry couldn’t put together a proper answer.

* * *

The wagon train had long left by the time they set off again, but their party wasn’t alone for long. On the final stretch to Emon, there were plenty of travelers on the road, most of them headed in the opposite direction. Merchants, caravans, and solitary travelers crossed their path as they headed steadily northwest. All the while, the road gradually drew nearer to the coast. Before the day was half over, the view of the Ozmit Sea had become constant. Sasha admired it from afar; it had been too long since she last saw shoreline. Westruun was lovely, plains and mountains were lovely, but being landlocked made her miss sights like that.

“We’ll be sailing that pretty soon,” Tim remarked to her.

“Can’t wait,” Sasha said happily. “It’s been years, though. I hope I don’t embarrass myself.”

Gerry, who was riding close enough to overhear, glanced over with a curious look. “You used to sail?”

“Not as a job or anything,” Sasha replied. “But I did travel a lot when I was younger.” She gave Tim an affectionate elbow to the ribs. “Then I met this one stomping around in the mountains, and I stopped that for a while. It’ll be nice to smell sea air again. I’ve missed it. What about you?”

Gerry shrugged. “We traveled a lot, I suppose. Only on Tal’Dorei, though. This’ll be my first time leaving the continent.”

Then Martin surprised her by speaking up. “My mum was never well enough for travel,” he said. “I never had the chance, growing up.”

Gerry nodded. “You said you’ve got people waiting in Vasselheim, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Martin’s face softened to wistfulness. “Feels like ages since I last saw them.”

Sasha saw her opening and took it. “Well, what’re they like? Any family?”

Martin shook his head. “Just friends. And, um, as for what they’re like… well, there’s Melanie. She’s nice, I guess. As long as she isn’t angry at you. Oh, but if you want to talk to someone about traveling, it’s her. She’s been all over.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Martin leaned forward a little in his saddle, as if he could urge his horse faster that way. “She’s a member of the Cobalt Soul, so. If you’d like to meet someone who _actually_ follows the Knowing Mistress…”

Sasha’s eyes lit up. “The Cobalt Soul, you said?”

Tim scoffed quietly. “Sasha, you’re not gonna interrogate one of his friends as soon as we meet them.”

Sasha put her hand to her chest. “Is it _my_ fault Cobalt Soul monks know the best gossip if you get them talking?” Tim rolled his eyes at her, prompting a laugh from her as she turned back to Martin. “Well, we’ll see. Anyone else interesting?”

The look that Martin gave her was sharp and measured, and Sasha wondered for a moment if she was pushing her luck. It was just so rare for Martin to get chatty, and he almost never talked about himself. Considering how much trouble they’d gotten into from not knowing much about him, the last thing Sasha wanted was to ruin the moment in an attempt to know more.

After a moment, Martin softened again. “There’s also Georgie. Last time I saw her, she’d just taken an oath to Bahamut.”

Sasha whistled. “Paladin?”

“Yeah, but she’s… I mean, she’s pretty friendly.”

“What’s she like?” Gerry asked cautiously. It made sense for him to be nervous; he’d sworn a pact to an evil god and didn’t have the advantage of a previous friendship.

“I… honestly, I don’t actually know her that well,” Martin admitted. “She was always more Jon’s friend than mine. They knew each other in school, and I wasn’t there for that.”

“Who’s Jon?” Tim asked.

(Sasha bit back a sigh of relief. It had been touch and go on whether or not he and Martin were still talking.)

“Oh! He’s, um…” Martin hesitated.

“Your nosy half-elf?” Sasha chipped in.

A small smile twitched at Martin’s lips. “That’s him, yeah.”

Sasha still burned with questions, but she set them aside and let the conversation end on a positive note. With it, she felt one more knot of tension loosen and unravel.

By the next day, the road had gone from mildly busy to downright bustling. Barely a minute went by without them encountering others on the road. Sasha even spotted the wagon train that had left them behind the day before, as well as a few other faces from the river..

The crowds might have been downright pleasant, had they been the only thing Sasha noticed as they moved forward. Once the observation had properly stuck in her head, she waited until they reached a gap between crowds to bring it up.

“Are we getting a lot of attention, or is it just me?”

“It’s not just you,” Gerry said flatly. “People are staring.”

Martin looked worried. “Are you sure?”

“Believe me, I _know_ what being watched feels like,” Gerry told him. “Can’t quite tell if it’s fear or admiration, though.”

“It’s a mixed bag,” said Sasha.

“Not sure which is worse.”

“I’d say fear,” said Tim. “Definitely fear.”

Gerry shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Admiration has its own problems, but sure, fear feels bad all around, generally.”

“We’ve been passing people who were resting by the riverbank,” Martin spoke up, far too nonchalantly for Sasha’s taste. “People who saw us kill a devil and three hell hounds. Word must’ve spread.”

“If that’s it, then where’s the fear coming from?” Tim asked sharply. “We almost _died_ fighting those things.”

Gerry gave another shrug. “It happens. You throw around power like that, survive things people don’t expect you to survive, it’s bound to make them nervous no matter what you’re actually doing.”

“Speaking from experience, are you?” Tim asked dryly.

Gerry’s grin was all teeth and no joy. “Sometimes you swoop in to the rescue and people wind up more scared of you than they were of what you saved them from. Shit happens.”

“It’ll let up once we’re in Emon,” said Martin. “We’re out on the road right now, and people are seeing us head-on. Big cities are easy to get lost in.”

Tim groaned quietly. “How long ‘til then, do you think?”

Instead of answering, Martin simply pointed.

The shoreline was not a place of hills and valleys. As flatlands went, it was as flat as they came. To the west lay the Ozmit Sea, to the south behind them lay the Daggerbay mountains, but to the east and all around them was gentle green plains as far as the eye could sea.

To the north, where Martin was pointing, the shoreline curved into an indent, forming the ideal harbor for a port city. And there, nestled at the deepest point—

“Is that it?” Sasha blurted out. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“That’s Emon,” Martin confirmed.

The city was still far away, but the distance just made Sasha appreciate the scale even more. In terms of size, it dwarfed Westruun, and the sturdy walls bordering it did little to hide the buildings and towers that bristled into the skyline. Here, the land did rise into a hill, encircled about a third of the way up by a secondary wall around the center of the city. The highest point of the city’s central hill held up what Sasha could only describe as a proper palace, though from the distance it was hard to say for certain.

The city spilled out past its own outermost wall, the overflow alone almost half the size of the city proper, even without the surrounding farmland.

“Well, damn,” Tim remarked.

“Should be there in an hour or so,” said Martin. “Less if we hurry.”

Tim urged their horse to a faster pace, forcing Sasha to hold onto him to keep her balance in the saddle. “Well why don’t we? We’re leaving these horses here, aren’t we?” At a trot, their gelding overtook Martin’s. “I’d say the time to pace ourselves is past.”

Martin looked startled for a moment, before matching their pace. “I guess you’re right.”

“We’re in the home stretch!” Sasha cheered.

“Just on this continent,” Gerry reminded her, as his mare fell in step with them.

“Home stretch on this continent!”

A half-mile away from the city gates, the crowds forced them to slow their pace again, but with their destination so close, none of them were about to complain. Single-file, the four of them wove around wagons and caravans, careful maneuvered around the unlucky few traveling on foot, and slowly, steadily closed the distance.

It was only as they approached the overflow to the south—the sprawl of buildings that lay outside of the protection of the city walls—that a new thought occurred to Sasha. Since the battle with the fiends she’d hardly touched her magic, aside from the odd cantrip when she needed an extra hand or a quick fire. But now she reached for it again, this time pulling together enough for a proper spell.

Her nose itched as it settled into place, but with the edge of Emon approaching it made her feel more secure.

Gerry was the first to notice. “Er, Sasha? Any particular reason why…?”

Martin made a noise of surprise, and Tim looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at her. “Everything alright?”

“I’m _fine_.” She knew very well that it didn’t look right; that was the _point_. She had shaped her disguise spell to look as little like her as possible—pale skin, short blonde hair, missing some height. “But we’re heading into Emon, remember? It’s an even bigger city than Westruun.” They were well into the lower slums of Emon by now, and she cast about just in case there were denizens near enough to listen. “Big cities mean more room for certain thieves’ guilds to operate.”

Tim’s face darkened, and he didn’t question her any further, but Martin didn’t look quite convinced. He dropped in closer, matching her volume. “Are you sure we need to be worried about that?” he asked. “We left Rentoul and the others in—in the Feywild, remember?”

“Rentoul was buddies with his Spireling,” Sasha said shortly. “Can’t be sure he didn’t have friends in other places as well.”

To her relief, Martin merely nodded and left it at that.

They reached the gate within the hour. The only obstacles were the crowds, and the guards stationed there to keep the peace and give cursory checks to wagons. Without one, the four of them quickly passed through the gate and into the capital city of Tal’Dorei.

The gate took them straight into a sprawling district. Past the first few courtyards and official-looking public buildings, it looked to be mostly residential. From here within the city, Sasha could see more inner walls—one near the gate and another in the distance northward, both of them cutting through the city rather than surrounding it—district dividers, maybe?

“So, what are we doing?” Tim asked. “Where are we headed first?”

“Well…” Martin was taking in the city as well, turning as much as his saddle would allow. “Alright, so this is the Central district. I think I remember where some of the good inns were. So. We can get rooms for the night, return the horses, and… that’s it really. Rest of the day, we can arrange for tomorrow and rest up.” He looked to them uncertainly. “Sound alright?”

“I’ve got no objections,” said Gerry.

They proceeded to do… well, exactly that, more or less. With Martin in the lead, they carefully navigated the crowded streets, until at last they came upon the Piper’s Inn (“Oh, I remember this place,” said Martin, eyes lighting up at the sign. “I stayed here once after a night out.” “Too drunk to make it back home?” Sasha asked, and he pretended not to hear.) To their very good fortune, there were two rooms available. By this point they had unpacking down to a science, and it didn’t take them long to unburden their mounts and leave their belongings locked safely in their rented rooms.

They had to backtrack a bit to deal with the horses. The stables that would take them were close to the other gate—the one that they would have entered through, had they gone straight west from the crossroads. To reach it, they had to pass through one of the inner walls that divided the city.

The district they entered boasted wider, cleaner streets and a refreshing dearth of crowds. Everyone Sasha saw was on foot, and it didn’t take long for Martin to dismount as well. The others followed suit, and their path took them along the dividing wall toward the outer gate.

As Sasha walked along at Tim’s side, her gaze was drawn to the center of the district, where a massive building made up the centerpiece of this portion of the city. In fact, she had to wonder if the buildings surrounding it weren’t part of it—they were similar enough in design for it to be likely, and all of them built out of the same polished white marble.

Wait. “Martin,” she spoke up. “Is that the Alabaster Lyceum?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Martin answered, a little sheepishly. “We’re in the Erudite Quarter, which is basically a part of the city for scholars and students.”

“You lived here?” Gerry asked.

“Oh, gods, no.” Martin shook his head. “I-I mean, there are rooms available for students at the Lyceum, but they weren’t—I mean. I just didn’t have the funds. I actually, er.” He made a vague gesture toward the outer wall. “Lived outside the walls, for most of it. Until I—well, I got lucky and I-I found someone willing to go halves on a room in the Central District.” He seemed to steel himself. “That was Jon, actually. That was how we wound up friends. So that was better. Not that it’s bad! Living outside the walls. It was just easier to get to class from inside.”

“What was it like learning there?” Gerry asked, which wasn’t the most delicate way to steer the conversation away, but Martin leapt on it readily enough.

“Oh, it was—I mean it was fine. Better than fine.” Martin hesitated. “It’s most well known for its wizards, but it’s got a decent program for aspiring bards of lore. A-at least, it did when I was there. I haven’t been, for years. Can’t think of any reason why it wouldn’t anymore, but… anyway. I liked it, when I was here.”

“I’m a bit torn, personally,” Sasha remarked. “Because on the one hand, learning more about magic sounds like a dream, but on the other… well. I don’t mix well with stuffy arcane academic types. Not for lack of trying, but…”

“No, I get it,” Martin said emphatically. “Me too, honestly. At least bard students know how to have fun.”

Sasha shot him a sympathetic look. “Didn’t get on with wizards, did you?”

“Most wizards.” Martin’s mouth twitched into another of his very brief, blink-and-you-miss-them smiles. “Some of them grow on you.”

They reached the stables. Martin produced some paperwork from his pouch and presented it to the stablemaster, who looked over it, checked each of their horses, and took one final payment before sending them on their way. Sasha gave her and Tim’s one last thorough petting on the nose (and glanced over to find Martin and Gerry doing the same) before the four of them left the stables more permanently on foot.

Outside the stables, Martin paused and turned to them again. “So, er, is there anything else you all would like to do right away, or…?”

Tim sighed. “Much as I’d love you to give us a full tour of the entire city…” Martin very obviously tried not to pull a face. “Yeah, I thought so. How much should we stock up here? We’ll be sailing for the next stretch. What do we need?”

“We should definitely pack provisions,” said Sasha. “Most ships that take on passengers have ample food stores, but it’s better to be safe than hungry.”

Martin nodded. “If we need more than we already have, we can do that in the Central District. If we need any equipment, then the Promenade is the place for that.” He pointed to the dividing wall that bordered the other side of the Erudite Quarter. “That’s where you find most of the traders and craftsmen in this city.”

“Well, we’ve got plenty of daylight left,” said Gerry. “Sasha, how much more time do you have on that spell?”

“Half an hour, but I can cast it again.” Sasha squinted up, checking the position of the sun. It was getting on to early evening. “By the time I run out, we’ll probably be done for the night anyway.”

“What’s on the docket, then?” Tim asked. “Food, supplies…?”

“I’ll have to make arrangements, as well,” said Martin. “Find us a ship that’ll take us across the Ozmit Sea.”

“Speaking of,” said Sasha, as the thought occurred to her. “How soon _can_ we leave for Issylra? Will we even be able to catch a ship on short notice?”

“Well, it’s not _exactly_ short notice,” said Martin. “I still have acquaintances in the city—people who can help out with that. I sent out letters before I hired you two, actually.”

“Martin!” Sasha exclaimed, with mock dismay. “You mean you have friends in the city and you didn’t tell us?”

“I’m telling you now,” Martin said, rolling his eyes. If Sasha didn’t know better, she’d say the gesture was almost fond. “Besides, she’s not a friend, exactly? More of a, a colleague. Former colleague.”

Sasha opened her mouth, already full of more questions, then thought better of it. “Well, then why don’t we get that out of the way first? It’s still early in the evening, and if we want to leave tomorrow then we probably shouldn’t put it off much longer.”

“I don’t know if it’d make much difference, but…” Martin’s voice trailed off. “Fine, fine. We can split up, though. I don’t think we need all of us to meet with her.”

“I can head back to the inn,” Tim offered. “See what we have left in terms of food. How long d’you think this will take?”

“Oh, not long,” said Martin. “She does the books for the Owl’s Head in the Central District. It’s on the way back to where we’re staying, actually.”

Sasha flung her hands upward. “Then why bother splitting up? Come on, Martin, let’s go see your friend—sorry, _colleague_ , and after that we can all go shopping together.”

“Alright, alright, fine!” Martin conceded at last. “Don’t understand why you want to meet her so bad—”

“Keep in mind you’re arranging a boat ride for all of us,” Tim reminded him. “Don’t blame us for wanting to be there for it.”

“Right, makes sense.” Martin beckoned them on. “Let’s go, then.”

The Owl’s Head turned out to be a pub that took up a full street corner. It was a nice enough place, with tables and seats clustered outside for overflow even though no one was sitting outside in late winter. Martin led the way inside and out of the cold, and Sasha found herself admiring the cozy atmosphere. This was the kind of place you went to for a good lunch, or casual drinks with friends, or a place to sit down with a book and a hot drink. Plenty of people inside were doing exactly that.

Behind the counter, a middle-aged dwarf woman was multitasking between taking payment from a couple of customers and stacking dirty dishes onto a tray. Once the customers left, she took up the tray and swept into the back with it, vanishing behind a door right as Martin reached the counter. Moments later she emerged again, wiping her hands on a small towel. Sasha noticed the moment she caught sight of Martin; her eyes lit up in recognition, and she skirted around the counter to meet him.

“Martin!” she exclaimed, seizing his hand in her excitement. “Is that really you? Gods, how long has it been?”

“At least a year,” Martin replied. “Probably more.”

“Definitely more,” the dwarf half-scolded. “Haven’t heard a peep from you in all that time, either. If you hadn’t written last month, I’d have thought you’d forgotten all about us.”

“Sorry about that,” Martin said, with an apologetic smile. “Things have been a bit weird. It’s good to see you again, Hannah.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll be staying long,” Hannah said hopefully.

Martin shook his head. “Just tonight, unless something goes wrong. I’m, um, we’re actually on our way to Vasselheim.”

Hannah’s eyes flickered past him to Sasha, then Tim and Gerry. “I see.” She sounded disappointed. “I take it you want to talk to Rosie.”

“Is she here?” Martin asked hopefully.

“You’re in luck.” Hannah turned away, beckoning. “Come on. All of you, it’s alright.”

The group made their way around the corner and into the back, down a hallway that led past the kitchens. Sasha’s curiosity overcame her. “So I take it you knew Martin when he was in school?”

“That’s right,” Hannah replied. “He’d come here after his classes from time to time. Used to sit all by himself and write poetry, until—”

“Hannah,” Martin sighed.

“I’m only saying,” the dwarf said fondly. “It’s always nice to see you coming around with friends. You always look happier when you aren’t alone. How is Jon, by the way?”

The floor they were walking on was perfectly flat and uncluttered, but Martin still managed to trip. “Jon’s fine. I mean, the usual? Like he always is.”

Hannah clucked her tongue with disapproval. “Well in _that_ case, make sure he’s eating properly, next time you see him. That man, he always hated being fussed over, unless _you_ were the one doing the fussing, of course—”

Martin sighed heavily, and Sasha stifled a giggle.

At the end of the hallway, a door stood ajar. Hannah opened it to reveal a cluttered office containing a few cabinets, a single desk, and a chair stacked with books, at the top of which sat a gnome squinting through spectacles at the ledger she was writing in.

“Martin’s here to see you,” Hannah announced. “With guests.”

The gnome glanced up, slipping her spectacles off her nose when she saw them. “Oh. Finally—gods, Martin, I was expecting you a week ago.”

“Took the long way around,” Martin explained. “Hello, Rosie. Hope you’re not too busy?”

“I’m always busy,” Rosie said, shutting the ledger. “Come in, come in. Sorry about the mess.”

While Hannah slipped back to her post, the four of them squeezed into the cramped office. Tim shut the door behind them.

“Sorry for the lateness,” Martin began, and Rosie snorted as she hopped off the chair to rummage through the bottom drawer of the desk.

“I _suppose_ it doesn’t make much of a difference,” she said grudgingly. “But it was worrying. Especially given all the rumors flying.”

“More rumors,” Tim said dryly. “Wonderful.”

“It… can’t be that bad?” Martin said without much hope.

“Sinister happenings in the Bramblewood, far too close to Westruun for comfort.” Rosie pulled another book from the drawer, a slim blackbound volume marked with a ribbon. “Fey running rampant in the Verdant Expanse. Shadows in Ironseat. Then this recent business with fiends, only two days away from the capital—”

No one said anything, but Gerry shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, and several uncomfortable glances were exchanged. That had only just happened, and yet word had reached Emon already.

Rosie clambered back to her previous perch and opened the book. “Then there’s whispers of some dark priest or other running around,” she went on. “‘The Cleric of the Wandering Eye,’ or some such nonsense. Or not nonsense, I have no idea.”

“Oh,” Martin said faintly.

“And to top it all off, no one’s heard from Archmage Bouchard lately,” Rosie went on. “Which could mean anything from an impending calamity to, he got himself arrested on a misdemeanor again.”

“Again?” Tim muttered near Sasha’s ear.

“So, Martin,” Rosie finished, turning to Martin with a flinty look in her eyes. “With all of that in mind, perhaps you can understand why a full week’s delay with no word from you might concern me.”

Martin winced, looking properly cowed. “Sorry.”

“Water under the bridge,” she sighed. “So. Who’re your friends?” Her sharp little eyes turned on them, and Sasha spotted the calculating curiosity in them as easily as she did her own.

“Right, uh, this is Rosie,” Martin said awkwardly. “Rosie, this is Tim, Sasha, and Gerry.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Rosie said politely.

“You know an awful lot for an innkeeper,” Gerry remarked.

Rosie snorted. “Not an innkeeper,” she said. “I started doing the books as a favor when Hannah had her baby. It’s very calming, after dealing with Bouchard’s administrative messes.’

“Wait, you work for the Archmage?” Sasha asked.

“Formerly,” Rosie replied. “These days, I have a secretarial position at the Alabaster Lyceum.” She gestured toward the ledger and the book she had just retrieved. “Among others.”  
Tim craned his neck to peer over her shoulder at the blackbound book she had opened. “And that is?”

“Harbor schedule,” Martin answered for her. “She knows people who know people.”

“A passenger ship to Issylra left a week ago, by the way,” Rosie informed them. “So I hope that delay was worth it.”

“It was,” Martin said firmly.

Rosie shrugged. “Fair enough. You’re in luck, though. There are four ships setting sail for Issylra in the next couple of days. All merchant ships, though, so it’s anyone’s guess how comfortable you’ll be.”

“As long as at least one of them is willing to take us,” said Martin.

Rosie nodded. “I figured that would be the case. Meet me at the harbor tomorrow morning, and I’ll have something for you.”

Martin let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Thanks, Rosie. I owe you one.”

“You won’t for long,” Rosie assured him smoothly. “Whatever you pay for passage, I’ll be getting a cut, so don’t you worry about me.”

“Right. Still, though.”

“Just be careful,” Rosie said. “I thought I was leaving the strangeness behind when I left Bouchard’s employ, and the rest of the world seems determined to make up for it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Martin promised.

The four of them were shooed out of her office, and together they found their way back to the front. Hannah was busy with customers again, but managed a wave at Martin as they left the pub.

“Strange friend,” Gerry remarked once they were outside. “Not Hannah, she was nice.”

“How did you know her again?” Sasha asked. “Rosie, I mean.”

Martin shrugged helplessly. “It’s hard to know what to call her,” he said. “I was a student, and I saw her around the Lyceum a lot but she wasn’t faculty or a student. She was just kind of around, and she made things go smoother just by being around.”

“Makes sense, if she worked for the Archmage—oh, damn it,” Sasha’s hand went to her forehead. “Should we have told her we saw her former boss in the Feywild?”

“Gods, that looks weird,” Gerry muttered.

“What?”

“Your hand—I can’t see your horns, so when you hit your forehead, your fingers look like they’re just sort of hovering.”

Sasha dropped her hand to her side—better not to attract attention to her disguise. “Well, anyway. Where to next?”

“Back to the inn,” said Martin, already setting off again. “We’ll check supplies, buy whatever we need, then eat and sleep. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

* * *

“You know,” Gerry said casually. “You were the one who said we had an early morning tomorrow, remember?”

It wasn’t that he was complaining. The incense that Martin always used was nice enough—certainly better than the ones Mum favored. But still, he did have to sleep here, and he wasn’t sure how aromatic smoke infused with divine magic would affect his dreams.

“I won’t be long,” said Martin. “Just trying out a spell.”

“Ah.” Gerry lay back on the comfortable bed, hands clasped behind his head. “Any luck?”

Martin sighed. “No. Do you feel anything on your end?”

Gerry quieted, careful not to reach out to the Watcher and draw its attention that way. “Not really.”

Another sigh, this one more forceful and frustrated. “Damn.” Martin put the incense out, stowing the rest of the unburnt stick back in his pouch.

“Don’t know why you’re so desperate to talk to it,” Gerry remarked. “Really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, if I’m being honest with you. Half the time it spits out useless and unpleasant facts.”

“There’s too much I don’t know,” Martin answered. He’d replaced the incense stick with his little rune-covered Message stone, which he played with between his fingers.

“Ah, right.” Martin’s plan—such that it existed—sort of hinged on using their patron as a resource to facilitate its own destruction. Which still sounded like a disaster in the making, but after getting brushed off the first time, Gerry wasn’t about to waste breath belaboring the point. “How’s that going for you, then?”

“ _Terrible,_ ” Martin growled out. “My connection’s almost nonexistent as it is—I can cast spells, and that’s about it. Which, you know, great that I can stay alive in the meantime, with fiends coming out of the woodwork, but…”

Gerry frowned. “So, you never get nudges from time to time?” he asked. “Helpful or unhelpful knowledge popping into your head? Surprise shots of fear whenever something’s about to impale you?”

Martin shook his head. “Closest I’ve ever come is casting an Augury spell,” he replied. “I don’t get anything out of this unless I cast a spell for it. I’ve tried to push further, but…”

“But you’re never sure what’ll happen if you push too far,” Gerry finished for him, and after a moment Martin nodded in agreement.

They lapsed into silence far too easily, and Gerry tried not to sulk when he felt the distance between them again. It was like a missing tooth, sometimes; no matter how much he poked and prodded it, no matter how sure he was that it was getting better, that some torn and bleeding thing was healing, the empty gap remained.

He wasn’t used to building bridges. The last solid one he had, he’d burned. The amulet hung heavy around his neck as a reminder.

“Gerry.”

Startled, Gerry snatched his hand away from the amulet. “What?”

Martin was looking at it, his face tense and pensive. He opened his mouth to continue, then closed it again. He did this twice more, every false start more painfully hesitant than the last.

“I know you said earlier—” Another pause. “Well, we sort of got interrupted, and we never picked it up where we left off, but… when we get to Vasselheim…” He broke off again, sighing in irritation. “Gods, this is presuming a lot.”

“Just say it,” Gerry told him.

“I just want you to know, if you ever need help, after we get there, you can just ask, alright?” Martin said in a rush. “I don’t know exactly what will happen, but I promise—I won’t stop what I’m doing, I _can’t,_ and I’m sorry about that, the last thing I want is to put you in danger by doing this, but I don’t have any other option. So if whatever this is, if whatever I have to do—if it ends up hurting you, by taking away your protection, then just ask and I’ll help. I understand if you don’t want to, but—”

“Stop,” Gerry broke in, sitting up. “Stop, stop—you’ve already lost me.”

“You know what I’m trying to do,” Martin told him. “You have to know that if I succeed, I might take away whatever’s protecting you.”

“Yes?” said Gerry, slowly limping to catch up. “I realized that when you first told me.”

“Oh.” Now Martin looked faintly off-balance. “Good?”

“Yeah.”

“So, whatever you end up doing, when you get to Vasselheim,” Martin continued.

Gerry sighed shortly, cutting him off. “Do you want me gone, when we get there?”

Martin blinked.

“Yes or no?”

“I mean I thought you would. Want to be gone, I mean.”

Biting back another sigh, Gerry pushed his hair out of his face. “Right, yeah, no. I don’t think I ever said that. Pretty sure I was about to say the opposite, before we got interrupted the other day.”

Martin didn’t answer except to stare blankly at him.

“Here’s the thing,” Gerry went on. “Whether our mutual patron likes it or not, I’ve sort of devoted myself to dealing with things from beyond the planes. I mean that literally—in fact, I sort of included it in the pact I made with it. So, if said patron happens to be one of those threats…”

“Wait,” said Martin.

“I didn’t throw in with the Ceaseless Watcher out of love or loyalty,” Gerry told him. “I did it because I was alone and desperate, and I didn’t have any other options.” He gestured between them. “That’s changed. Hasn’t it?”

Martin opened his mouth, then closed it again. It was becoming dangerously endearing.

“So, yes,” said Gerry. “If I find myself needing help once we’re in Vasselheim, I _will_ be asking you. Because, hopefully, you won’t be all that far away.”

He was toying with the charm at his throat again, drawing Martin’s gaze to it. “Think that’ll still work, if you lose your connection to the Eye?”

“I dunno. Maybe? Morning after I made my pact, I woke up with it clutched in my hand.” Gerry shrugged, then flashed him a grin. “But maybe if we pull off whatever your goal is, it won’t matter. What’s my mum to a couple of godslayers?”

He laughed at the wry face Martin pulled. “Ugh, go to bed,” Martin told him. “Early morning tomorrow.”

“You’re the boss.”

It was almost too easy to fall asleep. Gerry hadn’t let himself rest without casting an alarm spell since before he’d learned how, but tonight, it simply slipped his mind. For once, the fear of unguarded sleep didn’t plague him until exhaustion forced his eyes shut. Whenever the old dread crept in, the sound of Martin breathing just across the room eased it away again.

When he opened his eyes to darkness and unfamiliar sounds, he was almost resigned. Of course there was a catch—he could never just have one restful night.

Even though the fog of dreaming, he recognized it. All the smells of the forest, with an extra bite in every breath. The low hum of wild magic suffusing every blade of grass, every leaf, every slight breeze that stirred the air. Pinprick-eyes glinting in the dark, watching, always watching, as if from every point in the shadows.

And among them, the Eye watched as well. His patron was always keen on his dreams, no matter how Gerry might rankle at the intrusion.

He supposed, reluctantly, that a little curiosity was warranted. It wasn’t often that his dreams took him to the Feywild.

His steps carried him through the tangled undergrowth, every one observed by the multitude of unfriendly eyes. A small shadow, vaguely fox-shaped, darted across his path, cold fur brushing past him before it vanished again.

When Gerry stepped into the hollow, the lights in the amphitheater were low, and the music and fireworks were nowhere to be seen or heard. The space between him and the wall stretched on for too long, until finally it allowed his steps to take him near. The stage was silent and empty, but for the vague shapes of set pieces hidden beneath multicolored sheets.

Lee Rentoul sat on one of the topmost rows of seating. He did not scream, though his mouth seemed to be locked open by the branch that grew—either down his throat or out of it, Gerry could not be sure. His body was melded to his seat, hands and legs and wood so equally distorted and bloodstained that it was impossible to say where the flesh ended and wood began. The signs of his struggle were everywhere—from the fingers he’d lost trying to rip his hands free, to the teeth torn from his mouth trying to bite through the branch in his throat. Gerry couldn’t even tell whether or not the man still had a tongue.

At some point, the man’s glassy, rolling eyes settling on him—or on something past him—and bulged with mingled terror and rage. The sound he made around the branch in his mouth was horrible.

And then, as Gerry watched in mute horror and revulsion, a hunched, wizened figure materialized behind Rentoul and settled gnarled hands on his shoulders.

“You poor, poor thing,” she whispered. “I can get you free. Would you like that, my dearest?”

The sound that Rentoul made was no less awful, and yet it was unmistakably a plea.

“It’ll cost you,” the old woman said with a pleasant smile. “Do you still want this? Scream once for yes.”

Rentoul still couldn’t scream with the branch down his throat, but he did his best.

“That’s it.” From beneath her moth-eaten cloak, the old woman drew out what Gerry thought was a long knife. A second look revealed its single serrated edge, and the shape of a handle that looked to be more bone than wood. “Here we are, then. I’ll have you out in a tick.” Wielding the thin-bladed saw in one hand, she set about cutting him free.

At one point in her task, she paused amid Rentoul’s muffled cries to wipe her hands on her apron. Smiling with all the satisfaction a job soon to be well done, she lifted her bright eyes toward the spot where Gerry stood, still itching under the Watcher’s gaze.

“Might want to make yourself scarce,” she said. “Before the troupe master gets back.”

The scene melted before his eyes, colors running together like a painting in the rain. They blurred, and then they faded, along with the forest and the eyes and the hum of magic that soaked the Feywild, until only muted gray fog remained.

Alone with his patron once more, he drifted in suffocating silence until he finally opened his eyes to the morning light streaming through the window shutters.

* * *

Sasha woke feeling refreshed and rested, which was more than the others could say. Tim had been tossing and turning before she went to sleep the night before, and was already up and about when she awoke. Martin was quiet and sullen, more or less rested but nowhere close to refreshed. And Gerry didn’t seem to have much of an appetite at breakfast, for whatever reason.

The lack of horses was the morning’s sole break in their otherwise fixed routine. Martin led the way through the Central District to the harbor on foot. Sasha had her disguise in place again, though hopefully she’d only need to cast it once. As soon as they set sail, she was dropping it. Martin had promised that Rosie wouldn’t set them up with a ship full of Clasp, and Sasha could only take him at his word.

They passed through another dividing wall to get to the harbor district, and Sasha’s heart quickened in anticipation. “Looks like this is it,” she said. “Last chance, Martin—is there anywhere you want to visit before we go?”

“Not really,” said Martin. “I saw the Erudite Quarter, and I said hello to Hannah. I don’t need any more than that. Besides, Rosie’s waiting.”

They followed the streets down to the ports, where the usual morning activity was in full swing. Boats lined the docks, from smaller two-man vessels to full-sized ships. Dockworkers loaded and unloaded cargo. Passengers darted back and forth from one dock to the next, searching for the right vessels.

And in the midst of it all, a gnome woman stood beneath a signpost bearing the lists and schedules for the day. She wasn’t alone; the dwarf Hannah wasn’t with her, but three others were. As they got closer, Sasha recognized them as human, a halfling, and a half-orc. She wasn’t sure who they could be; they certainly didn’t look like dockworkers or sailors. Two of them were dressed in blue robes, for gods’ sake.

Wait.

“Are they Cobalt Soul monks?” Tim muttered.

Ahead of them, Martin slowed for one step, then seemed to brace himself before moving forward again.

“Hello, Rosie,” he said stiffly.

Strangely, Rosie looked almost apologetic as she acknowledged his greeting. “Martin, you made it.”

The human monk waved. “Sorry to show up unannounced,” he said. “When we heard you were in town, we had to see for ourselves.”

“Sorry I can’t stay long,” Martin replied, without sounding very sorry at all. Sasha cleared her throat as politely as she could. “Oh, right. Um, this is Sasha, Tim, and Gerry, they’re traveling with me to Vasselheim.”

“Charmed,” the half-orc monk said, showing her short tusks with a friendly grin. “Martin probably hasn’t mentioned us, he’s more of a friend of a friend.”

“I mentioned Melanie,” Martin said, flushing slightly. To Sasha and the others, he added, “They’re friends of Melanie’s. Andy and Antonia are monks like her, and Sarah’s a friend of theirs.”

Andy the monk grinned and waved again. Sarah, a halfling with close-cropped dark hair, flashed a brief smile.

“Charmed,” said Sasha. Briefly she considered dropping her disguise, but decided against it. Not until she was on the boat. “Come to see him off, then?”

“Guess we’ll have to,” said Antonia. “Would’ve loved to catch up, but you look like you’re in a hurry.”

“Bit of one, yeah,” Martin replied.

“Tell Melanie we said hello, won’t you?” Andy offered a hopeful grin. “It’s been ages since I saw her, and she doesn’t write near as often as she should.”

“I’ll pass that along.”

“Georgie, too,” Andy added. “Have you talked to her lately?”

“She’s been in Vasselheim lately, so no.”

Rosie coughed loudly, drawing their attention back to her again. “They’re on a schedule,” she said, right on the edge of impoliteness.

“Won’t keep you, then,” Antonia said, putting a hand to Andy’s shoulder. “Have a safe voyage.”

“We have no control over that,” said Gerry.

Antonia shrugged. “Alright, die then,” she said, which startled a laugh out of him. Martin shot him an amused look, then moved to follow Rosie as she led them down the dock.

“Hey, Martin, one more thing—” Andy called after them, stopping them for a moment. Even Martin, as impatient as he was, paused to look back. The look on Andy’s face was almost painfully earnest. “It’s just—it was really good to see you again. I mean that.”

“Thanks,” Martin said politely. “You too.”

“And I’m glad you’re on your way to Vasselheim, too,” Andy went on. “Especially with Georgie, you know how she gets sometimes. She’s been worried about you.”

Martin blinked, and the polite blankness on his face barely wavered.

“She’s got a funny way of showing it,” he replied, and walked off without another word.

Bewildered, Sasha looked from Martin’s retreating back to the trio seeing them off. Gerry seemed just as surprised, while Tim was already following him.

As much as Sasha hated to admit it, there was a time and place for curiosity. With a hearty mental shrug, she waved to Martin’s acquaintances and darted after her friends.

Rosie, who walked at a surprising clip for someone her size, led them toward the northern end of the port. The vessel she brought them to was middling in size, slim and sleek and built for speed. It was well-kept and cared for, fitted with new sails, and looked ready to break anchor at any moment. Sasha hoped they hadn’t delayed anything.

“Truth be told,” said Rosie. “I’m not sure if this counts as luck or not.”

That brought Martin up short. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing catastrophic,” Rosie answered. “She’s fast—probably the fastest you’ll find in this harbor. She’ll get you to Issylra in good time.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but,’” Tim muttered.

“If the crew and captain are crooked,” Martin began.

“They’re not,” Rosie assured them. “Not in any of the ways that matter, anyhow. They won’t take your money and dump you in the ocean halfway across, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She paused, squinting thoughtfully as she hunted for the right words. “It’s just their reputation—well it’s not bad, exactly. Just… odd. You’ll see.”

The four of them exchanged glances among themselves.

Rosie flung her hands into the air. “Lawbearer’s tits, do you want it or not?”

“We can do odd, can’t we?” Gerry spoke up. “We’ve been dealing with—well, I know I didn’t join you at the start, but we’ve been dealing with odd since _I_ got here, at least. What’s a little more?”

“We might as well meet whoever it is,” Sasha pointed out.

“Unless we don’t mind delaying again,” Tim added, and that decided it more than anything else.

“No, you’re right,” said Martin. “We’ll take this one. Thanks, Rosie.”

The gnome sniffed at them. “You’re welcome,” she said primly, then walked out toward the end of the dock. “Come along, I may as well introduce you.”

On their approach, a figure emerged at the edge of the deck, vaulting easily over the railing and onto the gangplank before descending at a slightly more sedate pace. He was dressed as simply as any of the other crew members, in a waterproof coat and polished but well-worn boots; if it hadn’t been for context clues, Sasha wouldn’t have picked him out as the captain. He was easily as tall as Gerry, broad and well-built, with a neatly-trimmed beard and the edge of a tattoo creeping up from beneath the loose collar of his shirt. His brown skin was tinged with the faintest hint of blue, and it glistened in the sun as if he’d slipped out of the water rather than stepping off the deck of his ship.

He approached them with wide arms and a broad smile. “So, these are the passengers that dear Rosie has brought me!” he greeted them. “Welcome, welcome aboard. I am very happy to have you. Happy to have your money, of course, but I always love to have passengers. I find it adds… oh, how do I put it… a bit of _color_ to a voyage.”

He wasn’t wet from the sea, Sasha realized faintly. She was looking at a water genasi. A water genasi, captain of a fast ship, with a reputation that was not bad so much as merely odd…

“Oh,” she said faintly.

“ _Oh,_ ” Tim agreed.

The genasi’s grin widened. “I see from your faces,” he said. “My reputation precedes me?”

“A bit, yeah,” said Tim.

“Then you ought to know, from my reputation,” the ship captain went on. “That I will get you where you need to go?”

Martin was looking at them, confused and slightly lost. Gerry, she noticed, was not—he was watching the genasi with equal parts wariness and curiosity.

But Martin was looking to them for a cue.

Sasha looked to Tim, who looked to her, and together they came to an accord. “We’re good,” she said to Martin. “It’s like Rosie said—odd, but good.”

“I don’t recall using the word ‘good,’” said Rosie. “But I suppose it’s one that fits.”

Martin squared his shoulders, mind made up. “Right then,” he said. “How much are you asking for?”

“Come.” The genasi gestured to the gangplank with a welcoming hand. “We can discuss such matters in my cabin. I promise, my price is very reasonable. But—oh! Where are my manners?” He inclined his head, flashing another rakish grin at them all. “Mikaele Salesa, at your service. Welcome aboard the _Dorian_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here are some maps, in case you need help visualizing things!
> 
> [Tal'Dorei](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/criticalrole/images/6/62/Map_of_Tal%27Dorei_Campaign_Setting.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180515120647)
> 
> [World](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/criticalrole/images/0/0e/Exandria.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20190102001426)


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